Double Balance
by MsFicwriter
Summary: The Exile confronts Kreia on Malachor V. New dialogue, new outcome, a new Star Wars saga begun.
1. Prologue

**DOUBLE BALANCE**

A KOTOR II Tale by MsFicwriter, ©2019

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is heavily based upon the YouTube video "The Philosophy of Kreia: A Critical Examination of Star Wars," posted by user 'esfelectra.' All other rights reserved.)

_~ "I wondered if, perhaps, the teachings of the Jedi had been our failing all along. ~ Master Zez-Kai Ell_

**MALACHOR V – TRAYUS ACADEMY: TRAYUS CORE**

What does it mean to rise, or to fall?

Can one do both at the same time?

I've tried. The crone standing before me has also tried – and succeeded.

"I've been waiting for you, apprentice. Is Malachor V as you remember?"

Darkness and solitude, but no silence. "Yes. All those who perished here are still screaming."

"As they should. War has always taught the wrong lesson, and such shrieks are proof." Darth Traya, whom I had called Kreia, approaches me. "Even now the dead of the Mandalorian Wars yearn for release. As for you? You've reached the end of your journey and training. Ask your questions, and I will answer."

So many thoughts fill my mind, churning like undigested meat. A single query surfaces:

"Why have you done this?" One heartbeat. Two. Three.

"It is said that the Force has a will. It has a destiny for us all. I wield it, but it uses each of us, and that is abhorrent to me, because I hate the Force. I hate that it seems to have volition, if not sentience. It would control us to achieve some measure of balance via the lives and deaths of countless millions. The Force manipulates us, as I have manipulated you, to achieve its grand design – its plan of salvation."

My throat has gone dry, leaving my voice raspy. "I'm not sure I follow."

Traya sneers. "Whom does it want to save? Not you, me or anyone else, but _itself._ Have you ever wondered why the Jedi call their source of power the Living Force? It is because the Force not only courses through all of life, but is alive. Therefore, it must sustain itself, and it cannot if it's imbalanced. Light side? Dark side? These are names for the energies of life and death. An extreme at either end causes havoc. If we all followed the path of kindness, how would we know it was so without the existence of cruelty? If no creature ever died, life would become a living nightmare, an eternal struggle for ever-dwindling resources. The reverse is also true. We recognize a phenomenon through its opposite. Are you beginning to see?"

I nod, and this acknowledgment wrenches my guts. If I concede one point, will I concede all?

"The Force feeds us while we live and feeds _from_ us when we die. We become one with it, merge and sublimate. No longer are we individual people, whether in body or in spirit. There is only that which was in the beginning and will be at the end of all things. We are founts of power in and of ourselves, but our wellsprings are destined to disintegrate and return to the ocean. No Jedi, no Sith, will ever tell you this.

The Dark Lady smirks. "Do you believe yourself unique? You are, for no other has made the choice you did. You cut yourself off from the Force, severing bonds with the very ground of your being. You have deprived the Force of a source of nourishment. Although you've reconnected to it, the echo of your decision reverberates without end. You've shown the universe what it means not to be the slave of existence itself."

I sweat and tremble. At long last I understand what she means, and her truths are hideous.

"I've answered your question. Now you answer mine. First: Why do the Jedi deny their humanity?"

I recite the credo I've always followed: "There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no ignorance."

"_Enough!" _Traya clenches her hands, seizing me by the throat with the Force, and pulls me closer. "That's not an answer. It's an evasion. What is the last line of the life-giving Code you obey blindly?"

She releases the pressure just enough for me to croak, "There is no death; there is the Force."

"Yes. The Force and nothing else, once every creature in the galaxy has died. What of the Sith? What does their Code specify shall set them free? Their own strength and ability? No: the Force. Both sets of beliefs lead to death, whether that of the body before its time or that of the spirit via being subsumed. Have you ever met anyone who has achieved a state of utter selflessness? They are clay jars, vessels! No longer are they human, alien, or any other creature with a will. They are _self-less _containers of mortal flesh.

"As for my two deceased apprentices, what they wanted took the place of whom they were. Hunger robbed Darth Nihilus of his physical and spiritual substance, turning him into a void which could not be filled. Pain robbed Darth Sion of his sanity, turning him into a madman who sought to spread agony everywhere.

"Revan had a name and a nature, as you once did. Having ultimate power, then forsaking it, turned him from a man into a myth. Myths become legends, and legends become gods. He is close to godhood."

"You said 'as I once did.' I still have a name and a nature, a personality. I am Vesi Svari."

"Not to those you have encountered, _exile._ Still, I will grant you this for one reason: the meaning of your moniker. Both your first and last names mean 'balance' or 'weighing scale,' which is quite apropos."

Stunned, I feel my mouth fall open, then close itself tight. I swallow and say, "What next, Traya?"

"That depends. Are you a Jedi or a Sith? Will you slay me for the sake of justice or vengeance?"

"Why should I slay you at all?"

"Ah. . ." Her sigh echoes and fades in the depths of this dark planet. _"Now_ you understand."

"Whichever motive I choose, I'll still kill you and be guilty of doing so. Why is there no other way?"

"Because there's no other way in the Force. Good and evil. Light and dark. Master and slave. Our galaxy is a two-sided thing, as there are two pans on ancient scales. You must become one or the other."

"If I don't, then you'll strike me down and keep finding ways to destroy the fabric of life itself."

"Thus deafening others to it. If no one can sense the Force, how can they follow its plans for them?"

"One thing's for certain: I yearn to stop you and let you continue at the same time. I'm divided."

"It's a wonder, and a mark of your perceptiveness, that you realize it. Since you do, end this."

She ignites her lightsaber. I hurl both of mine into the blackness surrounding the Trayus Core.

I kneel. Traya freezes.

Two of my own words thunder in my ears, and I can hardly believe what they are: "I surrender."

Traya charges forward, prepared to cleave my head in two with her scarlet blade. She cannot. Hurling her head back and her palms forward, lightning streams from her hands, but it does not touch me. When she attempts to draw my essence from me, I feel no draining of my spirit, no weakening of my will.

Throughout I remain on all fours, bent and pliant as a reed, yet immovable as a mountain.

"What is this?" rages the Sith Lord. "What are you doing to me?"

_Nothing and everything. We are reflections in a mirror. We won't cancel one another out, even if the Force itself wants us to. We have chosen our particular paths, you and I, and we know we're both right. _

With a howl of torment, Traya collapses to the glowing crimson floor of the Core's central chamber.

"Here. . .Vesi. . ." It's the second time she's said my name, and it could be the last. I scurry to lean in closer. "Rescue your friends. . .or don't. Reform the Jedi. . .Order or do not, but beware. . .if you do."

"Why? Because the Jedi are as extreme and life-denying as the Sith, in their own way?"

"Yesss. . ." A hiss and a squint of Traya's pitch-black eyes. "Teach them, as I have taught you. Your single. . .hope. How long before the fool decides he's better off. . .alone again? How long before the alien forsakes the world of men and becomes. . .a machine? How long before. . .the blind one beholds your true nature through the Force? How long before the tiny Jedi. . .becomes a massive zealot? They will all hold the seeds. . .of betrayal. . .in their hearts, for in not killing me, you have betrayed them all. Vesi Svari. . ."

"Yes, Kreia?"

"You are. . .the Double Balance, and you alone. . .can let the Force keep feeding, or starve at last."

A soft rattle I know all too well. Unseeing eyes, unfeeling flesh. The Lord of Betrayal is gone.

I am dead yet alive, extant in the body yet nonexistent to the Force. As I will, and always aim to be.


	2. The Order Reborn

**CHAPTER ONE: THE ORDER REBORN**

_~ "From despair shall come hope." – Kreia/Darth Traya, regarding the positive future of Nar Shaddaa ~_

**DANTOOINE: RECONSTRUCTED JEDI ENCLAVE**

From the ashes of Malachor V rose the phoenix of the Jedi Order on radiant wings.

From the plundered ruins of their once-great temple, new tutors and treasures emerged.

From the rubble of the past crawled the present, preceding an uncertain future.

Who were its guardians? Four newly-ordained Knights and their Master, a redeemed exile.

They lived and learned in their rebuilt Enclave on Dantooine, hidden from the eyes of friends and foes alike. Together, they taught a new generation of disciples. Balanced between light and darkness, the Potentium Path – so named by Vesi Svari – taught that the Force not only sustained but unified all of life. Its energy was not meant to be channeled too far toward either extreme. To proclaim this, Master Svari and her allies reformed the Jedi Code, allowing for errors, ascents and descents, and most of all, fallibility:

"_There is emotion, yet peace. _

_There is ignorance, yet knowledge._

_There is passion, yet serenity._

_There is death, yet the Force._

_Reach transcendence through balance, and balance through transcendence." _

In the warm, green fields of the Enclave Courtyard, the Zabrak Jedi Bao-Dur held court. Before a group of eager children, he stood in a combative lunge, swinging his sky-blue lightsaber to and fro.

"One, two, three. Two, two, three. That's right, Myriel, follow through. Jaedan, pay attention!"

A dark-haired boy stood rigid and cleared his throat. "Sorry, Head Guardian. I'm a little tired."

Bao-Dur smiled. "We'll rest in a moment. Three more reps of our swings, all right? One, two, three."

Master Svari stood a few paces back and observed, both pleased and proud. Under her tutelage, the best mechanic in the Republic fleet during the Mandalorian Wars had turned from fixing starships to fixing stances, adjusting attitudes instead of altitudes. She hadn't thought he'd be good with younglings, but he'd taken her by surprise. The forbearance with which he demonstrated and reviewed the most basic fighting techniques astonished her. Bao-Dur could do so much more but was content to teach, not triumph.

"Good day, General," he said when he saw her. He waited for his charges to salute.

"You know you don't have to call me that anymore," said Vesi with a grin.

"Would 'Master' be more appropriate?"

The Exile shrugged off this jest between them. "How are your first Shii-Cho lessons going?"

"Very well. They want to try the 'real form,' or so they say, but they're nowhere near ready yet." Pouts from several younglings. "Hold, my friends. The 'real form' comes with real lightsabers, so be patient."

The thought of sparring with anything other than training blades silenced everyone.

One student plucked up her courage and stepped forward. "Master Svari? Have you ever fought?"

"Of course. In fact, my own Master, Kavar, taught me the Juyo form."

"I mean in a war." The girl's gaze went from wide-eyed to worried in the span of a blink.

Vesi swallowed. She'd known full well that a fledgling Jedi would ask this sooner or later. "Yes. I've fought in a war. So did High Guardian Bao-Dur." He inclined his head. "We went to confront and defeat the Mandalorians, who sought the glory of battle above everything. Bloodlust. Destruction. These are tools of the dark side, but even those who follow the paths of light and balance can be tempted. That's why it's so dangerous to want to fight. You've sparred with training droids, right?" Smiles and nods of assent. "The thing is, living creatures aren't droids. They're sentient, and they have the same right to exist that we do."

"What's 'sentient?" asked Jaedan, scratching his head to ward off an itch if not the question.

Bao-Dur explained. "They live. They love. They think and feel. All of us do, even animals. We need to preserve and protect life, not kill without needing to. Going to war is. . .horrible. It makes you forget that your enemies are just like you in terms of what matters. We Jedi fight to defend the galaxy, not conquer it."

"What about the Sith?"

Vesi wanted to tell the girl – Adana, the daughter of Nadaa, a refugee from Nar Shaddaa – that the Sith were different. She wanted to tell her about right and wrong, good and evil, light and dark, but couldn't.

"If we fight them and _want_ to kill them," Bao-Dur asked, "then what makes us any different?"

Jaedan knew the answer right away. "We're the good guys!"

The Zabrak straightened his stance. "And good guys maintain focus. Two more reps. One, two. . ."

Everyone sprung back into sparring position, swinging their glow-sabers for all they were worth.

_How long before the alien forsakes the world of men and becomes a machine?_

Inside the Enclave, down one of its endless hallways, another group of pupils hunched against the consoles of sealed doors. Each lock was calibrated to each student's ability, from low to high security.

"Oh, _kriff," _mumbled one of them. "Access denied again. Now I have to redo the decryption."

"Why do we have to learn this?" asked her friend at the next door. "Can't we just use the Force?"

"Nope, that's cheating." A familiar voice, roguish and confident, greeted the Jedi Master. "Hey, ex." Atton Rand winked. Vesi blushed. Aboard the _Ebon Hawk,_ she and Atton Rand had flirted and skirted around the edges of romance but had held themselves back for the greater good – to serve the galaxy. "It's been a rough morning here in the old Lockdown Corridor, but we're going to crack these codes if it kills us."

"We might kill ourselves first." Spotting the Exile, the first trainee saluted posthaste.

"At ease."

Older than younglings but not of age to be Padawans, the Youth were too sure of themselves yet not sure enough. Security Specialist Atton Rand had volunteered to take them on – no easy task. He was the sole one of the four who allowed wisecracks in his class, for he considered them mandatory. According to Atton, Jedi took themselves too seriously. Wielding one's wit was as critical as wielding a lightsaber.

"Time's up," he said, clapping his hands once. "Unlock and eat lunch. Fail and start again. Go."

Deep breaths and groans. Of the ten who'd taken part in the session, only one found herself lacking.

"Allow me," Vesi interjected, stepping toward the young lady. "Ah. See these symbols? They're all the same, or at least they appear to be. However, if you look closely…" She pointed. "Notches. What do you think they're meant to do?" Silence. "Encircle a space, like so." She maneuvered the symbol plates until their tiny notches connected to form a border around an empty hole. A loud click. "Pure pazaak."

"Hey, that's my line," Atton cried. "Axvesik? You need some extra practice after class today."

The girl sighed, then looked up at the Exile. "How did you know the right sequence?"

"Before I became a Weapon Master, I disengaged security measures myself." Vesi put a hand on her hip and smirked. "Thought I was a stodgy old librarian, or else absorbed in hacking and slashing?"

"N-no," replied Axvesik, not sure what to think except that her master's Master was a master.

"Go grab some grub," said the Security Specialist, and the neophyte dashed away. Once she was out of earshot, he leaned in close. "Why'd you do that? Axvesik's the brightest star in my orbit. Coddling recruits makes them weaker, not stronger." He paused. "I thought you'd learned that from the old witch."

"I also learned that testing someone too far beyond their abilities leads to anger and resentment."

The corners of Atton's mouth quirked up. "Opening difficult locks is a path to the dark side?"

"You came close to learning such a lesson." His lips and hers lay a hair's breadth away.

"Come on. You know we can't do this. The greater good and all." He hesitated but didn't move.

"What about balance? Transcendence? Emotion, yet peace?"

Tension lingered, then dissipated. Atton stepped back and gave a jaunty wave of dismissal.

_How long before the fool decides he's better off alone again?_

After shaking her head and grumbling _sotto voce_ about the fickleness of men, Master Svari turned a corner and jogged down another hallway. One could get a full day's exercise traversing the temple, whether indoors or out. Vesi was in such a hurry that she almost missed the murmurs of Consular Mical. Once known as the Disciple and a spy for the Republic, he had turned to the Force for knowledge as well as the depths of the Jedi Archives. He was currently in the midst of a history lecture for Padawans-to-be.

"Of all the Jedi and Sith we have studied so far," Mical asked, "who was the 'heart of the Force'?"

"Darth Revan," answered one hopeful. "He was given this alias by Darth Traya, Lord of Betrayal."

"Correct." A pause for dramatic effect. "Revan's first and last teacher before the Mandalorian Wars. Can anyone tell me how and why she named him thus? Secondly, what does Revan's dark name signify?"

The wunderkind continued, "Darth Traya called him the 'heart of the Force' because he embodied and wielded such power in its purest and most intense form. His Sith name comes from _revanchism,_ which means 'seeking to retaliate and recover lost territory.' It is also similar to the word _revenge._ Which Revan sought, first against the Mandalorians and then against the Jedi Order itself. He betrayed us twice over."

"Teacher's gizka," snapped another student. "Besides, it's _thrice_ over – all because of Bastila."

"I'm answering the question," said the former, but Mical signaled for the latter to continue.

"One: He went to war. Two: After he beat the Mandalorians, he came back and defeated us. Three: Due to the influence of Bastila Shan, Revan fell to the dark side again and activated the Star Forge. There."

Silence. "Tragic history indeed," said the Consular, "but what can we all glean from it?"

"Never trust a woman." Raucous laughter, cut off as if with a blade as soon as it had begun.

"Excuse me." Vesi Svari stood in the doorway for a moment, making her presence known. "What is your name, future Padawan?" She clicked her tongue. "No matter. I have something else to ask you."

"Yeah?" The second student stood in the presence of the Exile, his knees trembling.

"What makes you think you're in Specialist Rand's Decryption and Security class? Leave the room." The hapless heckler couldn't do so fast enough, tripping over his own two feet in the process. "Continue," she said to Mical, but he motioned for her to approach the rest of the students. Elated, the Exile obeyed.

"If there's anyone who knows anything about Darth Revan," Mical said, "it's his lieutenant."

No one uttered a word for a long while. Unlike Younglings, Padawans in preparation were cautious about posing questions. They had learned long ago that blurting out whatever came to mind, even while signaling to speak, was a quick way to receive discipline. Their answers as well as their queries were quiet.

"Go ahead," said the Exile. "Wanting to know the truth is never wrong."

"What was he like?" asked the golden child who was a child no longer. "As a man, I mean?"

"I've never known anyone so determined. The one word that comes to mind when I think of Revan is _more._ More knowledge. More training. More power. Hungrier than a rancor, he was, and never satiated. If any of you would have met him before the Mandalorian Wars, I guarantee you would have followed him."

"Never!" A girl sprang to her feet and put her hand over her heart. "I would have stayed true."

Vesi paused. "That's exactly what I said and kept saying, before he convinced me otherwise."

"How'd he do that?"

"He had a magnetic pull of his own, a force beyond the Force that could make you do and believe anything. When Revan spoke, so did the galaxy. When Revan acted, the entire Republic was his iron hand. I can't put it into words that would describe it perfectly, but only the strongest could resist his arguments."

"So. . .you weren't strong enough?" Open-mouthed shock from the girl. "Forgive me, Master Svari!"

"No need to apologize. Revan taught me of strength: enough pressure and a mountain crumbles. Then she remembered herself and turned back to Mical. "Pardon me, Consular. You were saying?"

"I asked what we could all learn from the saga of Revan. It seems that we have our answer."

"Not quite." She faced the class once more. "Let it – and him – reveal individual truths. I'm sorry for interfering. That's the third instruction session I've meddled in today. May the Force be with you." As the future Padawans responded in kind, she smoothed her robes and cloaked herself, becoming invisible. Good teachers let their students reach their own conclusions, but what if the teacher herself said to do so? She hadn't meant to be counterproductive, yet good intentions often backfired. Kreia had taught her that.

_How long before the tiny Jedi becomes a massive zealot?_

After the stuffy and cloistered atmosphere of the Enclave corridors, Vesi was once again ready for a breath of fresh air. She found pupils of various ages engaged in Hide and Sneak using stealth generators in the grassy field opposite the courtyard. Concealed by the Force, she felt a gleeful urge to play along:

_Ready or not, here I come. _

Those who relied on the shielding belts – most of them – had to make sure they moved in a stealthy and precise manner, and that their tunics didn't get tangled up in the cloaking mechanism. The Exile tagged such unfortunates out of the game once their fields fizzled. The others had learned to harness the raw currents of the Force to hide themselves, and Vesi found herself enjoying the hunt. _There!_ _Behind the tree._ _Crouched against that rock. By the river? IN the river! Good thing Melindra doesn't use a generator belt. _

"Gotcha!" Vesi cried as she tagged Melindra out and heard the same word in return. She started.

Head Sentinel Visas Marr, her sightless eyes veiled by a burgundy silk cloth, came into view.

"You can't hide from me," she said with a subtle smile, an assassin's smile. "Or the Force."

"Unfair." The Exile sighed, then laughed. "How are you? Your fellow operatives have skills."

"They love Hide and Sneak. Sitting still long enough for deep meditation is another thing." After a beat, Visas gazed at the afternoon sky. "I wonder where _they're _hiding." The Sith – the true Sith."

_Beneath my hood lie eyes which see naught and all at the same time._

Shivers crawled down Svari's spine. Who had spoken to her telepathically: Visas or Kreia?

"I wonder," said the Miraluka. "When the sun sets, darkness appears. Thousands of stars. Millions and billions. Which ones orbit the planets where our enemies await? How close are they, or how far away?"

"I wish I knew. I haven't sensed any sign of them, whether through the Force or otherwise."

"Nor have I. That doesn't mean we're safe. Safe enough, but for how long?"

_How long before the blind one beholds your true nature through the Force? _

"Answers come in their own time, not ours," quoted Vesi, hoping that Visas wouldn't sense her apprehension "The future will take care of itself. Let's enjoy the present. Behold the future _in_ the present."

The two Jedi watched the students hide and sneak, predators and prey at play. These innocents had little idea of the danger that might befall them, if any at all. They knew about the Sith, but only those who trod the paths of familiar foes: Malak, Revan, Nihilus, Sion, Traya. They recognized these names. They viewed the holocrons detailing the facts of the wars and the combatants that had gone before them.

As far as they were concerned, those Sith were the true Sith, and their threat had been ended.

Master Svari and the Potentium Jedi wanted to let them believe this for as long as possible.

_Ignorance, yet knowledge._ For now, let the young ones not know, and grow up in peace.


	3. Entombed

**CHAPTER TWO: ENTOMBED**

_~ "He walks, but he is dead? It is because he is not ready to give up his ties yet. It is much like Jedi who will not give up their Code." – Kreia/Darth Traya, speaking of Hanharr and why he is powerless ~_

**KORRIBAN: SITH ACADEMY RUINS AND VALLEY OF THE DARK LORDS**

No coin has only one side.

No galaxy exists in one dimension.

No masters rule without thralls – those who are ruled, whose purpose is to obey.

Vadim Inikh was one of these. His orders? To pry live information from the ruins of a dead world.

He'd been issued a small freighter by his master, who had long since abandoned him. She'd gone to find her own Master, Lord Revan, now lost in the unknown regions of space. So Vadim had heard. A scout and emissary for Bastila Shan, he'd been privy to countless rumors, but what was the truth? As far as he knew, Revan could have been living under an assumed name and making rounds as a spice runner. The half-blooded Sith didn't think so, but slaves weren't made to think. They were made to act, as he had.

Exiting the freighter with his custom combat droid, X8-Z9, Vadim staggered at the onslaught of dry heat.

Korriban was barren, but not a desert like Tatooine, balmy by comparison. Instead of sand dunes, towering peaks and plunging valleys dominated the landscape. What else stood here? The Sith Academy that Lord Revan had founded and the tombs of several of their greatest Lords. These two places, once teeming with the lives of apprentices and salvagers, now held only death. So Vadim hoped to disprove.

_Master Shan may have grasped at straws when she sent me here, _he mused, _but I'll prevail. I'll even bring back a handful of dust if it contains any trace of the Force, or a broken holocron Revan used. _

X8-Z9 suddenly beeped and tweedled, sounding irritated.

"Nothing to kill? We'll see." He signaled for the spherical droid to follow him. "Move out."

Vadim decided his first port of call would be the Valley of the Dark Lords. He wouldn't have to spend much time scavenging. As more rumors had proclaimed, the graves below had been looted twice over. Once by Revan, returning to find a piece of the map to the Star Forge, and once by a lieutenant of his.

More than the daytime temperature oppressed Vadim. A subtle pressure made his throat constrict as well as the air he breathed. Could he last as long as the restless Sith spirits meant to test him? Making his way down into the Valley inch by inch, he ended up executing a double somersault to land safely from the outcropping on which he'd stood. Two flanking rows of tombs, silent sentinels, offered precious shade.

The slave wiped a thick sheen of sweat from his brow. X8-Z9 rotated, searching for hostiles.

_Still nothing. Not even a half-buried skeleton to examine. Why would my late heroes offer more?_

Tulak Hord. Ajunta Pall. Marka Ragnos. Naga Sadow. Through the Force, these men had nearly transformed themselves into gods. Nevertheless, they had died as men are meant to do. All of their vaunted power and indomitable will had been stripped from them by mortality. Even worse, in Pall's case, he had turned from the ways of the Sith. He had chosen sacrifice over selfishness, remorse over ruthlessness, and extinction over eternal existence. He'd become one with the Force, forsaking himself and his own life.

Again, so Vadim believed. He took care to hock and spit on Ajunta's mausoleum as he approached.

_Traitor. I was born a slave, but you chose to become one. _

Within Pall's tomb, nothing of value remained. Its plunderer had not expected riches, but perhaps dust spattered with blood? A tiny scrap of cloth? An echo of Pall's passing? Not even those. Vadim found the same result in the resting places of the other Dark Lords. Sighing, he crawled out of a final vault and clambered back up toward the surface of Korriban. He wanted to explore the Sith Academy before nightfall. Not that he was superstitious, but the slumbering dead seemed to rise once the sun set.

Vadim's combat sphere hovered in midair, trembling so violently his master feared he'd explode.

"Patience. If we don't find anyone or anything in the ruins, I'll test you with my Ryyk blades."

X8-Z9 gave a satisfied electronic murmur. He and Vadim found shelter inside the Academy. Apart from empty cots, empty footlockers, and empty lecture halls, it might as well have been a warehouse instead of a legendary headquarters for dark Force sensitives. The lone object of any use was a training console:

_Which of the following statements is NOT a paradox?_

_1) The master teaches the student, who teaches the master._

_2) I always lie._

_3) This statement is false._

_4) To be powerful, one needs an army; to have an army, one must be powerful. _

_5) Is NO the answer to this question?_

_6) We live through the Force; the Force lives through us. _

Did Vadim's eyes deceive him, or was the sixth statement glowing brighter than the other five? He didn't have much time to ponder this, because the fighting droid immediately began firing at the machine.

_"Hold! Now!" _

No response from X8-Z9 but to keep shooting blaster bolts until the training unit's monitor fried.

The half-blood Sith unsheathed his twin swords and lunged. Screeching in panic, the sphere froze and tried to explain why it had unleashed its might on an inanimate object. Understanding dawned on Vadim's face. "You didn't want your logic circuits damaged? Right. I hate computers, too." He kicked the smoldering remains of the CPU and continued down the last corridor, entering a previously hidden room.

"What the. . .?" A tall onyx pyramid loomed before him. Hesitantly, Vadim reached and touched it.

The image of Dark Lady Bastila Shan flashed into view. He knelt before it in hasty reflex.

_"It has been months since Revan's full memories returned," _the image said. _"Unrest grows amongst us. We're convinced Revan will not return, so we fight amongst ourselves. It's all I can do to keep order. The betrayals mount, and no matter who wins, we Sith will lose. No one left has the power to control the Star Forge, though many have tried. I've watched them be devoured, their life drained from them as they attempt to tap into its power. What, other than my Lord's strength of will, kept this from happening to him? _

_ "Knowing what we do of the ancient Builders and their fate, I'm convinced Revan did not intend for us to keep the Forge. To continue using it would mean the end of us, and the Force itself. I have done as my Lord asked and remained here, but he has been gone for too long. I shall wait no longer. Whoever survives the current civil war amongst the Sith will not be one I wish to follow. Only Revan matters. Only he can shape this galaxy as it was meant to be shaped. The rest can die, either in battle or through starvation. _

_ "Revan lives. This I know. If he will not come back, then I'll find him and discover why. I cannot stay within these walls, unknowing. I've become certain he remembered something in the Unknown Regions. It is a technique he learned fighting the Mandalorians, that allowed him to convert the last of those who fought alongside him to the Dark Side, completely and utterly. It also allowed him to slay those who resisted in a single stroke. And he fears it is still out there, and silent for too long. What is it? Will it save us or end us?" _

Bastila's likeness faded. Vadim stood up, realizing three things.

First, her words hadn't been meant for him. He was as disposable as any other slave. Had Revan's old lieutenant – what was her name? Vasa? Vanessa? – been its intended recipient? Furthermore, even if this information wasn't any of Vadim's business, it was critical indeed. Third, it gave him power. He could use it to complete his mission, though he knew his freighter wasn't equipped to travel beyond the bounds of known space. He could still report to Bastila's delegates, perhaps taking the bulky holocron along.

_NO. . . _The word reverberated off the stone walls of the room, but who had said it?

Vadim rubbed his temples. The headache he'd sustained from breathing dust and scorched air in the Valley of the Dark Lords was getting worse, but did such conditions usually cause hallucinations?

"I think we're done here," he murmured. "Let's go." X8-Z9 wheedled in protest, reminding him of the promise he'd made to bring battle to him if nothing else would. "Now? You're naught if not determined, but let's go back to the training arena where those tuk'ata skeletons were." The droid agreed. They set off.

Once there, Vadim gave his all as he spun, parried and deflected each of X8-Z9's bolts. In ordinary sparring situations, they would stun him if they made impact, but these shots were live. With utmost concentration, he ensured every stream of laser light was absorbed by the other fixtures in the arena.

What he didn't and couldn't ensure was that he had an exit from the Sith Academy itself.

Someone or something was closing entrances, one by one. He didn't hear the doors slide shut.

When Vadim claimed victory by pinning X8-Z9 between the edges of his Ryyk blades, the droid conceded and the slave fell back, exhausted. Reeking of sweat and exertion, it took him a while to regain his stamina. Once he did, the two made their way toward the main egress of the building to find it sealed.

He tried unlocking it, then slammed his body against the stone three times, bouncing back off.

"Do the other doors, he ordered his droid. "Blast 'em to pieces if you need to. Get us out of here."

X8-Z9 darted away. Vadim attempted to pry the mechanism open with one of his swords. Failing that, he tried slashing certain slots in the interlocked stone fragments that seemed to be weaker than the others, but with no success. At last he slumped against the wall, defeated, and X8 returned the same.

_I can't believe this. We're entombed. X8 will rust, and I'll starve to death. Done. Mission failed. _

Thin and raspy breathing joined his heavy exhalations. From where and whom was it coming?

_Only when you face your grave do you know the truth of others'. Death is death, but for what cause? _

Vadim closed his eyes. If he were going crazy, it would be more merciful than dying sane.

_ Once a slave, always a slave. Your aim is self-annihilation, but I can bring you back. . .to life. _

"Who are you?" His voice was little more than a gizka's croak.

_I am Sith. Not one you serve, of the scarlet-skinned race, whose lineage you share by half. We true Sith are all dead, at least in the physical sense. We have transcended flesh and blood, and so can you. _

That made no sense at all. "How. . .why. . .what do you want?"

_Your service for a time, so you may become a master at the end of it. You may call me Kreia. _


	4. Refuse-gees

**CHAPTER THREE: REFUSE-GEES**

_~ "What you feel is the echo of the minds of these creatures within the Force: their anger, their greed, their desperation. It is life." – Kreia/Darth Traya, describing the currents and people on Nar Shaddaa ~ _

**NAR SHADDAA: REFUGEE SECTOR**

Who did the Jedi and the Sith think they were?

What made them believe they had the right to ruin the universe?

Wherever they went, fighting endless wars, they left devastation and tons of wreckage behind.

Refuse. Trash. Not just piles of rubble and twisted metal, but living beings as well. Not so long ago, the Mandalorian Wars had turned otherwise-successful people into homeless refugees, trading their last credits for a ticket to whatever world would take them. Nine times out of ten, that world was Nar Shaddaa. Technically, it wasn't even a world. It was a moon, its name meaning "jewel" in Huttese, but most called it the armpit of the galaxy. It smelled like one. Instead of Tatooine's parched air or Dantooine's fresh breezes, those on Nar Shaddaa inhaled a potent mix of exhaust fumes, rotting waste, and unwashed bodies. Many wore cloth veils over their noses and mouths. The wealthy opted for discreet, nearly-invisible rebreathers.

Ona Li was not wealthy. She was one of the masses in the Refugee Sector, a faceless drone except for her Twi'lek head-tails. Her daily earnings amounted to no more than a hundred credits. She knew she could make good tips as a cantina dancer, but her kind were a cred a dozen. Ona had also considered plying a trade one step down, but decided against it. The Red Sector had also been filled to capacity.

What was left? Janitorial work and food service, which paid even less than her current job with the Czerka Corporation. "Recyclables Procurer," her official designation, sounded better than "scavenger." The stench involved was bad, the humiliation worse, but at least the former kept sentient dreck-flies away.

Today her boss had sent her to scrounge through some recent construction site cast-offs. Czerka had gone on a building binge ever since a Jedi had passed through two years ago – and given Ona hope. She'd never spoken to the woman, but that exile had slaughtered the Exchange's thugs and overseers. No more tributes. No more disappearances or kidnappings. No more threat of being sold to the Hutts. That was the good news. The bad news was that Ona and her fellow refugees still didn't have much chance of moving out of their current sector. They couldn't afford the new high-rise condos Czerka had developed.

_Jedi can't fix everything, no matter how hard they try,_ Ona thought as she adjusted her uniform.

The heap of debris to which she'd been assigned didn't look promising. No mangled steel beams or other pieces of metal she could haul back in her salvage cart, just crumbling drywall and other junk.

Stretching her hazmat mask over her face, the Twi'lek dug in and set to work.

As she sorted through the materials, Ona pondered the grand scheme of things and her place in it. Her role was to dig through what had been thrown away and decide what, if anything, could be reused. Food wrappers? No, though she found some of those in the pile. Huge hunks of plaster that had more dust than substance? Also no. Out with the old, in with the new, and the old got relegated to junkyards like this one. Miscellaneous boards? Hmm. She'd take the ones that were still straight and leave the warped ones.

_Does Czerka know how much waste they produce in construction projects? Do they care? _

Ona suspected the answers were "no" and "no." Why would they know or care? Czerka Corp was like a Quarren, its slimy tentacles stretching out to every planet that mattered. It didn't intend to share its profits with anyone but high-level executives and shareholders. Employees such as she were future scraps on the discard pile. As soon as they outlived their usefulness, they were disposed of in like manner.

"Cost of doing business," she murmured to herself, startled at the sound of her voice.

A passing salvage droid concurred, beeping and humming in a resigned tone. Not one of Czerka's.

"Hey," said Ona. "Sorry, but this heap's mine. Go through that one." She pointed.

The droid swiveled its head in a gesture of negation, slid its arm into a narrow crack, and retrieved a tiny gray cube. It seemed to be made of some kind of crystal, but didn't refract light like crystals did.

"What's that?" asked the other scavenger. "Can I see?" Surprisingly, the droid scooted closer and dropped it into her palm. Ona rotated it to scrutinize its six sides, peering at each facet. Cool to the touch, the object seemed like it had once possessed a charge but was now silent. _Dormant_ came to her mind. _Is this thing a dead power cell of sorts? If so, for what? What's it doing buried in a pile of construction rubble? _

The metal salvager reached into the mess again and pulled out something much more valuable: a ring. Ona snatched the gold band before it could vanish into the droid's cargo compartment. Angrily, the machine whirred a warning, but Ona ignored it – until it brandished a blaster pistol.

"Easy there. Easy…" She backed up a few paces. "How about we make a deal? You keep the gray cube, and I'll keep the ring." The droid fired a warning shot, causing Ona to freeze, then spring into action. Knowing her hazmat suit would protect her from detrimental energy, she grabbed a warped board from the debris pile and raised it like a club. Two more bolts from the droid's blaster, which Ona's suit absorbed, then a series of _thunks _from the board, which shattered on the fourth impact. No damage to its target.

How much more could her suit withstand? Ona didn't want to find out. She stuffed the cube and the ring into a pocket on her utility belt and made a run for it, dodging blaster fire as best she could. Without thinking, she leapt onto the junkyard fence and scaled it, awkward though it was in her bulky garb. When she jumped and landed on the other side, she kept running, knowing bolts traveled through fence holes. Ona didn't stop dodging obstacles and people until she vanished in the crowd of the Refugee Sector.

_Home. That was close. I need to decontaminate and see my boss. Show him my haul. _

What was her haul? Someone's wedding band, most likely, and a dead power cell? Besides, she'd left her salvage cart behind at the junkyard. She was _not_ going back there while the droid was still prowling.

_I can't go to Muro Chano with these. They're garbage except for the ring, which I want to sell. _

A pang of conscience pricked her. Ona knew she should try to find the ring's owner first, but what were the odds of that on a moon the size of Nar Shaddaa? Some grunt had probably lost his one piece of jewelry while hammering away on the frame of one of Czerka's condos. Maybe Chano would know who it belonged to. Then again, if the construction worker had been so careless as to wear it on the job, it was his loss, right? Finders keepers? The Twi'lek knew it might not be worth much, but she needed the money.

She needed it even more after she cleaned up, found Muro, and heard what he had to say.

"Disappointed, Ona. Very disappointed. What is this cube? Nothing. As for the ring, I'll give you two hundred creds. Don't know owner. Why you not bring anything else? Steel, wood? Objects of any use?"

"There was nothing we _could_ use." She swallowed hard. "Nothing worth recycling. It was all junk."

"Just like you. Third assignment you've not completed. This was last chance, Ona. You're fired."

Droids weren't the only beings that could fire blaster bolts that hit their target hard. "No. Please."

"Must, must. Can't meet quota, then you not have job. Here's two hundred creds, plus fifty more for trying. Trying not enough. You must succeed. Might have better luck in the nearest cantina or Red Sector."

She wanted to punch him. "Give me one more chance. I promise I'll find something."

"Three failures, then termination. Czerka policy. I not write it. Go bother someone else."

"I search through the dirtiest piles of garbage, endure stink no one else would go near –"

"Yes, yes, and I search through dirty gambling dens in this area for my stinky cousin Ono. He fled Telos because of debt to Exchange. Now he thinks he's safe, but he learn nothing. He still playing pazaak. Little Twi'lek, you annoy me. If you not get out of here, I'll set security droid on you." The Duros scowled.

Ona could do nothing but ball her hands into fists, clutching her cube and her credits, and go.

_What am I supposed to do? Two hundred and fifty credits will last me two more weeks. Then? _She didn't want to think about then, only now. She sought a quick escape from this moon. How to achieve it? Two ways: drinking and dancing. Not as a worker, but as a customer. She could certainly afford that.

The curio in Ona's palm had grown warm and was growing warmer, beginning to glow.

Diffuse silver light issued from it, light which the Recyclables Procurer had never seen or heard of. She stared at the inside of the crystalline form, hypnotized at the way it seemed to pulse – like a living heart.

"What are you?" she whispered to the cube, not caring if it were a silly question. "Who lost you?"

The pulse continued, steady and strong, increasing the effervescence emanating from the cube. To her astonishment, it murmured back in a familiar-sounding voice, though she couldn't quite place it:

_The Force is strong here, too strong. It overwhelms me and perhaps everyone. _

She gripped the cube with her fingers, curling them around its sweat-slippery surface like claws.

_If the Force is connected to all of life, why doesn't it relieve more of life's suffering? Why doesn't it help these refugees become rich, or at least able to move out of the slum they're in? Free will? I suppose. Is it entirely passive? No, because it shapes our destiny. Is it entirely active? No, because if it were, it would make every decision for us. How does it know when to intervene and when to stay silent? How can it know? _

It took Ona a while to listen to all this, because the whispers came in short bursts, yet had no static. It only took her a split second to blurt out, "Why are you talking about the Force unless you're a. . ."

_I've always asked too many questions. Maybe that's part of the reason I was exiled. _

Ona knew she recognized that lilting cadence more beautiful than a chanteuse's song.

_Regardless, we're here, and we don't like what we see. Maybe Hanharr does. He's a bounty hunter, living for the thrill of the kill. All these refugees are beneath his attention – not even prey. They're refuse. _

At that word, the Twi'lek wished to hurl the cube against a wall of her cramped apartment. Refuse indeed! Was that what she and her fellow unfortunates had been to the Jedi and her companions? Then Ona realized the exile had been referring to what this "Hanharr" had thought of them. She then relaxed.

_The rest of us want to set things right. Crack some skulls if we need to. Starting with Saquesh. _

Two years ago,Saquesh had been the Exchange's main overseer in the Refugee Sector, or so the stories went. The stories also said that a certain Jedi and her party had stormed his headquarters and killed him. This news had been sweet, but who knew how long it would've taken for another enforcer to replace him? Thankfully, Czerka Corporation and the Exchange had parted ways and were now professional rivals.

_I know it's not the Jedi way, yet negotiating with a slave trader is like doing so with the Sith. No one wins unless one side or the other surrenders – either their credits or their lives. I'm not willing to do either. The refugees deserve a chance at a better life, and even if it means Exchange deaths, I'll give it to them. _

Ona liked how this particular Jedi thought. She herself had a chance and tried to seize it, but. . .

_As for Czerka? I'm beginning to regret helping them seize Telos. I got paid, but at what cost? _

No argument from their ex-Recyclables Procurer.

_Whatever the Force has in store for us, I'll be glad to get off this rock and head to Dantooine._

Dantooine? A planet of farmers and endless meadows? What could interest a Jedi there?

_I want to see if Kreia's right – if our Enclave is nothing more than a ruin full of predators. Vesi out. _

At last Ona had a name to associate with the human face glimpsed ever so briefly. Amber eyes, dark, close-cropped hair. Violet lips, or at least lipstick. If she were a Jedi, she hadn't been fully of the Light.

"Vesi," repeated Ona. "You helped me, and maybe by returning this weird thing, I'll help you."

Where was the exile now? Had she gone back to the Enclave of which she'd spoken? Whether she were there or not, Dantooine sounded like paradise compared to Nar Shaddaa. Fresh air and open spaces. Lots of room to grow. Ona imagined planting a garden, raising animals, and going into agriculture.

"Not bad," she mused. "Not bad at all. I'm more of a city girl, but I need a change of scenery."

She was tired of digging through garbage to see what could be used one more time. She hated her dead-end days, trapped in a maze with the other refuse-gees until they were all bound for the cremation pits. Helping others was one thing, but what if you couldn't help yourself? Ona was no longer employed. If she took Muro Chano's advice, it would be worse. The credits she'd earn would trap her on Nar Shaddaa. Once you began a certain life, you became bound to it, whether you were a cantina dancer or dreck diver.

Thus she spent her 250 credits to stow away in the cargo hold of a starship headed for Dantooine. Ona didn't believe in the Force, but finding the Jedi exile's artifact had been one mother of a coincidence.


	5. Crucible

**CHAPTER FOUR: CRUCIBLE**

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: I borrowed the Harrowing Force technique from Franz Kafka's "In the Penal Colony." It's the scariest short story I've ever read. That includes anything by Stephen King and H.P. Lovecraft.)

_~ "Have you ever wondered how Revan was able to corrupt so many, so quickly?" – Kreia/Darth Traya, posing this question to the Jedi Exile ~ _

**BORDER OF THE UNKNOWN REGIONS – CUPELLA: FORCE CRUCIBLE AND SITH BASE**

Jedi knew that falling to the dark side was not instantaneous, but a matter of degrees.

Darkness crept into you bit by bit. By the time you struck down your first victim, it was too late.

Was evil wholly a matter of action and volition, or were there places in the galaxy that radiated it?

Bastila Shan knew of two: Malachor V, now destroyed, and Cupella, which she'd helped to create. Upon a forsaken mining station a la Peragus (also gone), she now forged minions instead of minerals. The scores of refugees, slaves, and other missing persons she and her remnant Sith had abducted had served as crude ore, refined through crude methods. She and her new apprentice had improved upon them, but what was the final step? How could one break a mind without turning its owner into a drone made of flesh?

The Dark Lady lay awake nights, her mind poring over possible solutions yet settling on none.

The Circa Crucis Mining Facility had been named for its central feature: six ore pits situated around a much larger seventh one. Bastila had redubbed it Cupella, meaning "crucible." It would become a melting pot where raw materials were purified, made ready to be poured into whatever casts the Sith prescribed. Whether soldier, scout, spy or slave, from the highest to the lowest ranks, the molds stood ready, the flame of the dark side roaring high. What had been the largest neutronium deposit in the galaxy was now filled with pure negative energy, seething in ultraviolet silence at the bottom of the mine's central abyss.

Unable to sleep yet again, Bastila stood above it on a catwalk, leaning on its durasteel railing.

_Nothing there to the untrained eye except unending darkness. I know better. So would Revan. _

Once, the mention of his name made her heart yearn to give all. Now she had no more to give.

_Hate is what you feel when love betrays you, as my Dark Lord betrayed me. _

No matter how hard she tried, Bastila didn't understand. Revan could have molten the galaxy down and reshaped it in his own image – that of a Sith who sought power not only for his own sake, but for others'. It took courage and a selfless commitment to duty to rid the masses of their slag, to make them useful.

Bastila loathed herself for not being useful enough. Revan had tasked her with overseeing the Sith Academy on Korriban. She had failed. Even with her prowess in battle meditation, she hadn't been able to stop those faithful to her from killing their fellow students, traitors or not. She gnashed her teeth, recalling.

_If there's one thing I should have learned, it's that our passions consume all if uncontrolled. _

She'd found it impossible to keep her own passion for Revan in check. Even while he'd served as a pawn of Light, she'd sensed his overflowing power, reveled in it. Strength? He'd been more than strong. Skill? He'd been more than capable. Steadfastness? He'd been more than loyal, whether to the Jedi or the Sith. Which made his disappearance all the more troubling. Why had he vanished, charging his second-in-command with regaining their numbers singlehandedly? Hadn't he known weak Sith would wreak havoc and leave the Academy in ruins? Bastila had predicted as much. Why had Revan left her with the fallout?

_Fallout. Is the Crucible full of natural radiation along with unadulterated Dark Side energy? _

Bastila thought of a way to test her theory. From the pocket of her night robe, she took a holocron, in which she recorded the day's reflections. It glowed scarlet in the dim security lighting of the facility. She dropped it, then slowed its descent through the Force. What she saw astonished and frightened her.

As it fell into the central pit, it acquired a radioactive sheen, bright orange as seen through Bastila's Bothan Sensory Visor. It flared, then faded, leaving the red heart of the holocron to pulse and thrum. Then the outer form of the crystal melted and dissolved, followed by the quick extinguishing of the object's glow.

_That holocron was stripped, layer by layer, of all it held inside – even light. Nothing remains of it. _

_Was this what Revan remembered, the technique he said he'd learned in the Unknown Regions? _

_Can I harness such power, let it flow through those who serve me and extinguish them as well? _Warning thoughts stopped her: _No._ _They'd become mindless thralls. Before that, they'd be eaten alive._

_What if I sealed my subjects in hazmat suits beforehand? What if I strapped them into a unit built across, if not within, the central pit and let the Dark Side cook them like bantha steaks, searing their flesh? _Possibilities assaulted her mind like blaster bolts, one after the other. When a final one hit her, she recoiled as if from an actual shot. She stood on the catwalk for a long while, planning, recovering, instructing droids.

Five days later, all was ready, including the Dark Lady's new student.

"What is this?" his muffled voice asked from within his protective uniform. "I can barely breathe."

"Relax. Attempt to meditate. Today you shall earn your official title and the power of your rank."

That silenced him. He'd had been chomping at the bit for weeks before this. Persistent and tiresome as a youngling, he'd peppered Bastila with chatter about completing his studies. In his not-so-humble opinion, he'd waited too long and trained too hard to remain an apprentice. It was time to reach his destiny. He'd never expected to do so strapped to a platform, sealed in a hazmat suit, and dangling over a pit.

_THE _pit, the one he feared above all else. The one called the Crucible.

He squinted his eyes shut and tried to follow Bastila's instructions, but calm would not come.

"Now," began Bastila. "Before we start, I'll need to ask you a few questions. First: Who are you?"

"Forten Oriax."

"Not your name. Names are what others call you, whom they consider you to be. Who are you?"

Her pupil tried again. "Your apprentice."

"A more fitting response, but not quite. That's your affiliation, not your identity. _Who are_ _you?"_

Forten's heart raced. If his name and role did not define him, then what did? His family? He couldn't remember them, though he obviously had parents. His personality? Should he describe his quirks? As he pondered this, sweat beaded on his face and forehead, soaking into his hair. He also thought he felt the sting of needles pressing into his scalp, though that could have been nervousness. How was he to answer?

Bastila sighed. "It seems my query is too complex. Let's try a simpler one: What do you want?"

That was easy. "Power."

"What kind and how much?"

"I want to kill our enemies faster than anyone. I want unparalleled lightsaber skills. I want to be able to read minds, so I can predict what our opponents do before they do it. Most of all, I want to be in charge. I want all the power the Force can give, so I'll be strong enough to replace you and Lord Revan one day."

Oriax felt something surge onto – no, into – his skull. He shrieked in agony. If his head hadn't been restrained as well as his limbs, he would've been able to see that he was wearing a headdress featuring lengthy tubes attached to only-Bastila-knew-what. Unbeknownst to him, they extended deep into the pit.

"Spoken like a disciple," said his Master, "and a pitiful, unformed one. How dare you utter his name. You're not even one-hundredth as powerful as our Lord, yet you dream of usurping him. I should hurl you into the Crucible and let you be devoured by the energy within. However, I have use for you. Let's return to my first question. Who are you?" Pause. "If you need reminding, I'll be glad to provide such a stimulus."

He shook his head violently, thrashing from side to side yet not jostling the tubes. _"I'm no one!"_

"Indeed. One who is no one contains nothing, and must be filled. Do you know what shall fill you?"

Two words emerged as cries of pain: "The Force?" Forten had felt more than enough of it.

"Not just that, but the purest Dark Side emanations. You cannot see them; you can only feel them. Savor the burn as they submerge your body. Embrace such suffering. It will teach you the correct answers to my questions, as well as enlighten you regarding one more. Your flesh is durasteel, your mind ferrocrete. They must be liquefied and poured out as offerings, sacrifices."

"What? The J-Jedi talk about sacrifice, not the Sith."

Bastila thought about increasing the dial setting that would send attenuated energy, similar to an attenuated virus, into his brain. She hesitated. "True. Yet one of us rose above the rest. Lord Revan sought to rule the galaxy, as most Sith do, yet what did he mean to accomplish? Mere conquest? No. Conquest is a means to an end. Revan's goal was to mold mice into men, men into myrmidons, and myrmidons into Sith. Everyone would have fulfilled their Force-given destiny under his regime, with me as his lieutenant."

"But our m-master left us."

Now she adjusted the dial. After waiting for Oriax's howling to fade, Bastila gave some last advice.

"Fear not. Once I release you, you'll know who you are and what I command you to do."

More muffled screams from her hapless apprentice. Forten Oriax's hazmat suit peeled away and fell into the pit piece by piece, then his clothes. He found himself naked and suspended above the abyss like an animal about to be roasted alive. To his horror, the platform rotated him so that he lay on his stomach.

The Dark Lady chanted in the language of the ancient Sith, intoning "Harrow!" three times.

Oriax wasn't as scared of that as he was of the yawning void. He hated heights. A large part of his training had forced him to face them. Now he faced a different dilemma. It wasn't that he was lying on a high ledge, but that the expanse below him was so vast. How far down into the asteroid's core did it go? _If_ _these straps don't hold,_ he realized in a wave of panic, _I could fall for twenty minutes before I hit bottom._

That was his biggest worry, but it shouldn't have been. The Force had sensed his presence.

Tendrils of Dark Side energy, invisible to the naked human eye, rose toward him. They probed his bare flesh at first, testing, assessing. When they were ready, they began their work: to carve. To harrow.

Bastila Shan didn't hear his screams from the administrative wing. She had other preoccupations.

Ruling the galaxy was a fount of power from which she relished drinking, but bureaucratic red tape was a nightmare. In order to restore the Sith to a position of power, alliances had to be made, contracts signed, strong-arming and political sabotage executed. The Republic had regained some strength due to the meddling of one exiled Jedi. However, what was done could be undone. It was a matter of strategy.

_I despise the Exchange, but they keep the rabble in line. I'll send them my proposals for neutralizing grassroots opposition. I also loathe the Hutts, but those bloated gasbags control valuable resources. They need to be flattered. I'll flatter them by making my Czerka allies more receptive to their brand of human capital management. At the top of the list, I'll send my apprentice on a reconnaissance mission if he's able. _

She smiled to herself. _After he's "completed his training," he'd better be. _

The process took half a day. Bastila wondered if he'd last that long. Nothing was impossible with the Force, but not everyone could endure Harrowing. She herself had invented or discovered the method, but it was intended for underlings - those who had not yet had the Sith teachings written in their hearts. In order for that to happen, Sith teachings had to be implanted in their minds. In order for that to occur. . .

"We learn through hardship, not through ease," Master Shan said. "Through suffering, not joy."

If he were weak, Forten Oriax would suffer and die. If he were strong, he'd suffer and grow stronger.

Still, waiting was the hardest part. Bastila retired to her personal meditation chamber and did so.

Twelve hours later she returned to her apprentice, now complete. Whole. Harrowed and ready.

"I've returned," she told her steaming, silent patient. "I ask you once more: Who are you?"

"A weapon. . .of the Sith. Instrument of. . .the Force. No more. . .no less."

"Good. And your new title?"

"Darth. . .Fornax."

Bastila paused to let it sink into her own consciousness as well as his. "It means 'furnace.' What are you to do? What has been inscribed upon every inch of your body by tendrils of Dark Side energy?"

"_Melt. . .and forge." _

"Yes. You are to venture into the galaxy and make white-hot metal of every sentient creature. Melt their ego. Teach them, and they will learn. Mortals can't be gods unless they yield themselves to the Force."

"How?"

"Not everyone has to be Harrowed. Their defeat in combat at your hands or in a battle of wits shall prove enough. Above all, I want you to scour planet after planet, world after world, until you locate the Jedi. One still exists, and she may have recruited others. Her name is Vesi Svari. Bring her to me alive."

"So she. . .will face Harrowing?"

"It's the only way. She's the sole person in this galaxy who might know where Lord Revan went. If not, we'll turn her. Vesi didn't become the student of Master Kavar and Darth Traya for nothing. As for you? Let's get you some clothes for modesty's sake. The rest of you can heal, but it will always hurt."

She released him from the platform and the Crucible, beholding the glowing orange glyphs upon his frame. Melt and forge. The Force had outdone itself; that was clear. What remained was if he would be a sufficient vessel. Tools broke. Instruments wore out. Fornax had to achieve his purpose before then.


	6. Masters and Servants

**CHAPTER FIVE: MASTERS AND SERVANTS**

_~ "How many more do you intend to gather to us? There is only so much room!" – Kreia/Darth Traya, scolding the Jedi Exile when the _Ebon Hawk _is becoming crowded with companions ~ _

**DANTOOINE: KHOONDA ADMINISTRATIVE CENTER**

Across the galaxy, three things were certain: knew you were going to die; if you didn't pay revenues, government administrators would come after you eventually, _and_ they'd make you wait in line.

Ona Li found herself at the end of an interminable one.

She was fed up with cramped spaces. The line in which she stood led to the office of Administrator Terena Adare, who was probably fed up with refugees.

_"Please proceed in a calm and orderly fashion," _instructed one of several Khoonda protocol droids. _"Your inquiries are important to us. Administrator Adare will see you in due time. Do not jostle for position." _

Ona heard this message at least ten times as the queue crawled forward. With each repetition, she doubted the middle parts. Her inquiries couldn't have been that important if a machine had to tell her they were, and the Administrator? It could be half a day before Ona got to see Adare's office door, let alone her.

"Hey, lekku-head."

Ona turned to see a human boy staring at her, his oblivious parents attending to their comlinks.

"Excuse me?" She narrowed her eyes at the boy. He gave a start when he noted that the left one was brown, the right one blue.

"Whoa! You've got weird eyes, and you smell like kath hound dung."

The Twi'lek couldn't deny any of his comments, but she didn't appreciate her appearance being pointed out by a youngling – and a rude one at that. "Cargo holds don't have refreshers," said Ona. "I was lucky the compartment I was in had sanitation pods. I'll clean up after a while. For now, what makes you think you have the right to speak to me like that?"

"We live here. You don't. That means we should switch spots in line."

She blinked. "No. I didn't come all this way to lose my chance of seeing the Administrator."

"What's going on?" asked the lady Ona presumed was his mother. "Skaht, don't talk to strangers."

"Your son oh-so-politely suggested we trade places, pointing out my body odor as well."

The woman winced, then frowned at the lad. "That wasn't nice. You owe her an apology."

"Why?" protested her son. "She's a stinky Twi'lek, and I'll bet you she's a salvager."

His mother gritted her teeth. "I apologize, at any rate. I'm Elani; this is Enok. We're local farmers." At the sound of his name, her husband jerked his head but didn't lower the comlink from his ear.

_"But _we didn't get enough creds for our mega-kohl crop last month. That's why we're here."

"Oh?" asked Ona, crouching down to Skaht's level. "Are things going badly for others, too?"

Skaht snorted. "No. The stupid Administrator made a mistake, or one of her stupid droids."

"That's enough," announced Elani in a tone that made her son shrink back. "A commodities error, I should think. Should be easily sorted out. Right, dear?" Enok lowered his device, listening at last.

"Uh, right." He raised an eyebrow at Ona, then cringed at her sweat-and-exhaust-fumes perfume. "Where are you from? I mean. . ." After thinking a moment, he continued, "Khoonda's full of new faces. The last time we came here, a ship had just docked from Nar Shaddaa, bringing more refugees."

Ona gave a rueful shrug. "I'm afraid I'm one of them."

"Don't get me wrong. I'm all for. . ." For some reason, Enok seemed to have trouble finishing his thoughts. "Everyone wants a better life. You're smart to come here, and not so smart. We're a rural outpost. There are only so many vapor modulators and bantha herds to go around, not to mention farmhand jobs."

"Perhaps you need help? I'll do anything."

"I'm sure you would, but we have three men already. With the competition from our neighbors. . ."

"I understand."

Awkward false smiles from the two of them. Skaht kept glaring, skinny arms folded across his chest. As she had no more to say, Ona gave an uneasy smile and turned back around. She'd arrived with great hopes, leading to great regrets. With no credits for a return ticket to her home moon, what was she to do? Going around to strangers' farms begging for a job was a bad idea, especially if they were also suspicious.

An answering warmth came from her belt pouch, in the pocket closest to her skin. The holocron. She'd sell it for whatever it fetched on this beautiful backwater and try to hitch another crowded ride.

The line moved ahead at a space slug's pace. No one else insulted Ona, but no one else wanted to talk to her, either. The feeling was mutual. She shuffled along step-by-step with the waiting herd, some of its members as fragrant as she. When she made it past the front door guards and inside the Khoonda complex, the sun hung low in the sky. Good thing the summer season meant more daylight to find shelter.

"_Announcement," _proclaimed another protocol droid. _"Administrator Adare's office is now closed."_

_No. No. Where am I supposed to stay? _Ona fumed. _I didn't bring a kriffing tent with me. _

"_Please return tomorrow during our regular hours of 0900 to 1700. Thank you for your patience." _

Patience? Ona could have kicked the hunk of metal right in its metal groin. She swore in Twi'lek.

"What's that mean?" Skaht asked, eyes wide. "Tell me, tell me! I want to use it in class."

"You'll do no such thing," said his mother. "Besides, it's time to go home. Come on."

"Pardon me, Elani, but may I spend the night at your farmhouse? I have nowhere else to go."

Enok's brows raised. "Can you pay?" Ona shook her head. "Sorry, but we don't allow strangers –" he began, but Ona saw where it was going. For a moment, her feeling of hopelessness returned, and she wondered if any of this was going to matter. She spun and left the man talking to empty space. She did not want to start crying in front of a total stranger.

Ona couldn't believe it. If she would have had even ten credits, he might have let her stay. _Space them. Space them and their spawn with no manners. I'll sleep in a field if I have to, under the stars. _

She hadn't gazed at any stars on her journey from Nar Shaddaa to Dantooine. She'd seen plenty of spawn with no manners, some of whom had soiled themselves, stinking up the cargo hold even worse. Too many people and not enough space, even in space. That was the problem everywhere, and Ona hated being part of it. No wonder the masters of the galaxy loathed her kind – more broken mouths to feed.

The realization filled her with rage. She started running, pumping her arms and legs with a ferocity that alarmed her. Instead of slowing down, Ona sprinted, yielding to her fury. The bucolic scenery became a blur, owing as much to her tears as her pace. When she finally stopped for breath, she heard singing:

"_O children of Ryloth, come now, hear my tale. A hero arose, and she duly prevailed." _

In Ona's native tongue, no less. She jogged closer and hid herself behind a tree. A cleaning woman scrubbed the guano-spotted walls of another administration building, this one with two small courtyards. As the janitor worked with diligent strokes of her brush, she launched into the ballad of Kaurin Zyne, a Twi'lek lieutenant commander in the Republic fleet who had given her life to relay crucial coordinates during the Great Hyperspace War. Therefore, the song wasn't an old one, but Ona had learned it as a child.

Which was why, when its singer finished, Ona stepped out of hiding and approached her.

"A beautiful rendition, ma'am," the Twi'lek said, beaming, "but you made an error at the end." She corrected the human female's pronunciation, then introduced herself. "I'm Ona Li. That's my favorite song."

"One of mine, too." The woman wiped off a wet, soapy hand and extended it. "I'm Vesi."

"Pleased to meet you. What is this building?"

"It's – another part of Khoonda headquarters. Unofficial, but Administrator Adare has full jurisdiction over it. You may wonder why this complex and the other one are so far away, but she wanted to give outlying farmers greater access to their government." When Ona gave a blank stare, the woman laughed. "Look at me. Rambling on when I should get back to work. You wouldn't believe how dirty these walls get." She dipped her brush back into a foamy bucket of cleaning solution. "Not enough for sandblasting, though."

"May I help you?" The words were out of Ona's mouth before her brain processed them.

"Sure! There's another brush in the bucket. Let's finish before dark, though. Wouldn't want my boss to have my hide." Grinning, they set themselves to the task of removing smelly splotches through a liberal dose of elbow grease. It wasn't long before Ona's mind wandered, and she started rambling, too. Everything spilled out: her job loss, her trip from Nar Shaddaa, her troubles at Adare's office and with Skaht's family.

"Oh, no," Ona groaned. "I didn't mean to bore you with all that."

"On the contrary." A pause weighted with anticipation. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"I don't suppose you know of a free place to spend the night? I'm broke."

"I can get you a pass to our dorms. For your trouble and willingness to assist."

"Thank you." That was all Ona could say – no polite protests, no dancing around the subject.

"Our kitchen's open, too, if you need a hot meal."

"I do." Ona paused to dip her brush and start scrubbing again. "You sleep as well as work here?"

"Yep. The masters of the galaxy get penthouse suites on Coruscant. We servants get this place."

"No plush mattresses or room service for us, just bunk beds and bland canteen food. No heroic adventures, either," said Ona. A beat. "Instead of winning wars, we wash walls. I wish I could be like Kaurin Zyne, sacrificing all to save her comrades and the galaxy. Instead, who am I? Ona Li, salvager. No special skills, no training, nothing except the will to stay alive and get out of Nar Shaddaa's Refugee Sector."

"Impressive in and of itself," said Vesi.

"Impressive? You should see the Jedi and Sith. No scrounging through trash for them. No drudgery for basic-model cleaning droids – no offense. Day after day, what do we do? Nothing of importance."

"See that façade? Clean as the day it was first erected. If this building could smile, it would."

"Well, guess what? It can't." Ona sighed. "Are we done? I'm tired and starving to death."

"Right. I'll finish later. Come this way, and both of your conditions will be rectified." On the way to the cafeteria, the two women passed several people Vesi seemed to know, but she said not a word. Instead, they headed straight for the food: cannok steaks, fresh garden greens, hot rolls, and to drink, Virgin Juma.

"Hey, this stuff's good," said Ona. "I've never tried it before. I prefer the real thing."

"Me, too, at least from time to time." They fell to eating again, devouring their portions like soldiers. They also found the refreshers and dorms like two battle-weary grunts. "This one's empty and has been for a while. See you in the morning. When you go see Administrator Adare, be sure and tell her I sent you."

"Okay." Ona was too tired to ask what clout a janitor had with the Khoonda Administrator. No matter. She had a full belly, a clean body, and a comfortable bed. That was all she needed, and always had.

_What was that lady's name? Vela? Vera? Vesi, that's it. Nobody - just like me. _


	7. Educated

**CHAPTER SIX: EDUCATED**

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, I know the "Hermits' Cave" is called something else in real life, but bear with me.)

_~ "Know that I am your teacher, and that is enough." – Kreia/Darth Traya, to her second apprentice ~_

**KORRIBAN: SITH ACADEMY RUINS AND HERMITS' CAVE**

Vadim Inikh knew nothing of his new master.

Yet as her whispers crawled within his skull, he felt like he'd known her forever.

Whoever she was, she must have taught geniuses while still alive. The half-breed Sith realized he was not.

_I have a riddle for you: What lives yet sustains life, is used but never used up, inanimate yet animates all? _

After a long pause, he hazarded a guess. "The Force."

Vadim tasted cotton inside his mouth, felt Korriban's parched rock within his throat, and yearned for death. For his first week of training, he had not been released from the Sith Academy. How was he still alive? This Kreia had taught him a meditation technique that would allow him to ignore not only hunger, but pain. She claimed this trance would feed him through the Force. As far as he knew, he'd received no sustenance.

'_Tis the Force that sustained you for the past seven days. Food and drink are as naught compared to it._

Vadim scoffed. He wanted to pierce the dry, empty air with a retort, but lacked the strength.

_Patience. Sleep, for now. Let your droid guard you. When you awaken, you'll no longer be a prisoner. _

At the beginning, he had bashed doors and walls. He'd tried every combination he could think of, unable to crack ancient locks. At the end of his strength and his wits, he'd bitten into his own flesh and licked moisture. That was when Kreia had intervened, speaking to Vadim's mind though his ears heard nothing. He thought he had at last gone mad. His new master had assured him that, far from it, he had surpassed sanity. Survival was the first law of the Sith, the hidden underpinning of their Code. Survive he had, and survive he would.

Vadim was all too glad to obey Kreia's orders, surrendering to dreamless darkness.

When he awoke, his taut, sinewy muscles found that vigor had returned to them. He summoned X8-Z9.

"Haven't had any fun in a while?" The droid spat a _pew-pew_ response. "Then let's hunt." After a split second, he added, "If we can finally get out of here. Check the exits and see if they're still sealed."

He half-expected Kreia to have lied to him, as he didn't believe he'd been nourished through the Force. However, X8 reported that every door that had been barred against him was now open, allowing him egress. Vadim dashed out into the midday sun, not caring if it seared his skin within seconds. He was free.

"Scout out some tuk'ata," he commanded X8. "I'll follow you."

Kreia's voice stopped him cold: _Kill these herd stragglers, but do not disturb the ones in the Hermits' Cave. _

"Cave?" He was startled by the sound of his own voice, echoing from his mouth and not inside his head.

_Yes. Enter if you like, but attack none of the creatures within. They'll be attuned to your Sith scent. _

Vadim gave a curt nod which puzzled his mechanical companion. "Move out."

X8-Z9 hovered ahead several paces, his master without a blaster. Or any weapons, for that matter. Where had his Ryyk blades gone? As it was, he'd tear one of those goats apart with his bare hands and sink his teeth into raw meat. Such was his hunger. He'd drink its hot, squirting blood, too. Such was his thirst.

The droid soon located three tuk'ata sleeping in the shade of one of the Dark Lords' tombs. Three quick headshots. Mercy kills. Apparently, during the past week, X8's usefulness had not vanished. Vadim's had. He proved himself to himself again by dragging one of the beasts' bodies into the sunlight, letting it broil, then bringing it back into the mausoleums' shadow. After devouring what little meat could be had, he repeated the process with the other two. Native Sith often preferred raw flesh, but he was no pureblood.

Sated and drenched in gore, he and his combat sphere set out to find the cave Kreia had mentioned. It wasn't hard to locate, as much to the musty stench emanating from within as to the darkness.

"This must be it," Vadim said. X8 agreed. "We haven't seen any other caverns around here."

Had he been fully human, he would have required a light source to find his way through the inner tunnels. His bloodline had given him amber eyes that allowed him to see along the infrared as well as the typical spectrum of light. X8-Z9 also possessed such advantages. When Vadim found a talented mechanic, he'd have UV-vision capabilities installed. In this galaxy, one never could be too careful of possible enemies.

Speaking of which: "Hold your fire. Master's orders." Still confused, the droid whirred and led the way.

_You may plunder what you can from the remains here. I suspect you'll find precious little. _

"What is this place?" Vadim asked aloud. "You called it the Hermits' Cave, but I don't see any hermits." His voice reverberated off the cave walls, not scaring him, but sending shivers down his spine nonetheless.

_Indeed. Venture deeper. Answers come in their own time, apprentice, not ours. _

He shrugged. Cryptic statements had never been his mug of juma juice, but Kreia's were especially potent.

Vadim and X8 explored further: the latter on the lookout for aggressive creatures, the former for treasure. Fuel for starships was pricey. If he were to forget his new, invisible mentor and head for hyperspace, he'd need credits. For those, he'd need something to sell once he got off-world. What was his sole discovery? A cloth armband, red and black, which had been discarded or lost. It bore embroidered initials: _V.S. _

"Could almost be my name," Vadim murmured, tying the garment around his bicep. "Anything else?"

Something flashed in the corner of his eye. Perhaps a shyrack's wing, or the horns of another cursed goat. He shook his head to clear it, then heard water nearby. Smelled it. Sprinted toward it like a madman. Upon finding a sizable stream and waterfall, he dove headlong off a cliff of medium height into the water. The splash resounded, and he found himself engulfed in the most refreshing shroud he'd ever known. If he would surrender, open his mouth and let the stream flood his lungs, all his suffering would be over.

Something – or someone – held him back. Slaves had no rights, only duties. He hadn't completed his.

The half-blood Sith broke for air with an audible gasp, swam to the stream's far bank, and climbed out. With care, he stripped and scrubbed every inch of himself, using the armband as a washrag. The beasts around him probably used this same water for less-sanitary purposes, but he didn't care. Once clean, he laundered his tattered trousers and laid them out to dry. While he waited, more shadows flickered in his periphery.

"What the fierfek is going on?" Vadim turned to look at X8. "Scout for more hostiles, but don't attack."

_Pew-pew-pew. _The combat sphere chafed at this command so counter to its programming, but departed.

Once Vadim's trousers had dried – at least as much as they could have in the warm, moist air – he put them back on and watched for X8. Its report? The animals further in were wary but not aggressive. Good. He didn't want any more bloody scuffles today, even after he left the cave. He wanted to make Kreia proud.

He filled his canteen and set out again, pulled inexplicably toward an even darker section of the cavern.

What he saw through the infrared spectrum made him recoil. Ghosts, the ghosts of children, familiar ones.

_They are not ghosts, but Force visions of those whom you know well. _

Siho. Kaanral. Murvai. Yeesha. His fellow slaves, topless as younglings often went before their puberty. Countless others with them, lined up like bantha calves to be weighed and measured. Heads bowed, backs bloody. All but Vadim's. Until that fateful day when he had refused the Crucible, he'd never borne the lash. He'd been spared, his overseers had said, for a purpose only Lady Shan knew. Until then, if he behaved…

He'd behaved. He'd followed every order to the letter, preparing for a purpose he feared and yearned for.

That meant watching the others achieve their purpose, too, to mount the scales and undergo assessment. To receive measurements of muscles meant to bend under exertion. Those in his work group had been allowed to hit any part of his body they wished to, except his back. Never where a slave should be beaten. Only the four whose names Vadim remembered had spared him. The numbered others, he'd seared from his memory. Memory lived before him now. After Murvai's weighing turn, Yeesha was ordered forward.

"No. No." Vadim shut his eyes so tightly they hurt. No matter: the images forged past his physical sight.

Wiry, dark-haired Yeesha had not been meeting either her growth goals or labor quotas. She wasn't fit for hauling cargo, but the overseers claimed they had too many scrawny brats who could crawl into vents and speeder hatches to do repairs. Thus, after finding her wanting, the Assessor had slit Yeesha's throat.

_I'd frozen in place, unable to think, speak or move. Out of all those womp rats in our group, I could have – _

_Saved her? _Kreia asked, finishing Vadim's unspoken sentence. _Would that have been a kindness? _

Siho hadn't thought so. The leader of their makeshift gang of four, he'd sneered at his comrade's tears.

"She was worthless." After that, Siho had found himself on the stone floor of the Slaves' Infirmary, being pummeled in the face by both of Vadim's fists. No one stopped or punished either of them. This was conflict, and conflict was the only way their kind would learn. Two eight-year-olds died that morning. No one cared.

"I killed him." Those three words soon faded. "My first murder."

_A mistake, yet your first worthy deed. Advance into this part of the cave. What do you see? Hear? Smell?_

Vadim took a moment to find his bearings and reflect. "Darkness. Silence. Death."

'_Tis as it should be. This cavern runs strong with Dark Side energy, but you aren't fully attuned to it yet. _

Yet? What horrors lay in wait for him and his loyal droid, that couldn't fight what it didn't understand?

He and X8-Z9 clambered deeper into the Hermits' Cave, aware that they still hadn't met its inhabitants. At a critical junction, they had to decide which fork to take. One led to more void, more unknown; the other up toward a patch of sunlight streaming in through a hole in the wall. Vadim chose the latter path. Scaling a series of footholds, he peered through the hole and beheld the soundless Valley of the Dark Lords. Apropos. He was learning how to be a Sith, a being of power, following in the footsteps of the great ones he revered.

Climbing down, his foot slipped on a rock which clattered and broke open. He jumped the rest of the way.

"What's this?" Apparently he'd upset some sort of geode, glowing violet-black in the sun's focused rays.

It reminded him of. . .no. Another onslaught of memory, another lethal fight, this one with Murvai as a youth.

He didn't need any Force ghosts to remind him of his victory. He picked the specimen up, clenching it hard.

Lady Shan had required such crystals for the lightsabers that titled Sith would wield. She'd sent Vadim and Murvai, half of their original gang, on a gathering expedition to a similar cave. Where? He couldn't recall. His masters had moved their headquarters to planet after planet once the Korriban Academy had fallen. In this case, such a trivial task would prove to be instrumental. They both realized this. What they did not was what the bearer of the rarest gem would earn: the right to be one of Lady Shan's personal slave attaches.

Murvai had dug up a viridian crystal, providing a distinctive blade color. Vadim's find had baffled them both.

"Violet-black, like this. Translucent. Magnificent. Neither of us understood it." At once he felt his palm singe. He dropped the hot rock like a hot rock, and still it glowed. Waiting for a purpose. Kreia spoke:

_An ore containing astidohydrogen, one of the rarest in the galaxy. You uncovered it once. Take it up again._

Reluctantly, the half-blood Sith obeyed. The crystal still burned into his flesh, but it no longer pained him.

_You are fortunate enough to bear its hazards. You'll need it as the core of your new weapon. Well done._

"A lightsaber?" He couldn't have been more shocked if he were told he was now free. Yet he knew beyond a doubt that it was true. This was what he was meant for, not just the servitude he had been born into.

"Mine." Murvai's voice in Vadim's mind, his tone weighted with cruel intent. "I'm bringing it to Lady Shan."

A protest from his rival. A shove, a roundhouse kick. Wrestling. Searing agony as Murvai had wrangled the stone from Vadim's grasp, then howled like a rancor being devoured by a krayt dragon. It had corroded a hole straight through his hand, eating through muscle and bone alike, and the pain had killed him. No fear, no guilt, no shame for Vadim. Only an emptiness that he hadn't been able to define, a hole in his spirit.

"Unworthy, as Yeesha had been," said the half-Sith. He bowed his head. "As I found myself to be later on."

_We shall see. Take the astidohydride gem and proceed. You have yet to meet whom you seek. _

What did he and X8-Z9 expect to find at the end of their abode? A blank wall? Yes. Skeletons? Also yes, four of them. The odd thing was that three were crumpled in front of the wall, as if they had perished sitting in front of it. The fourth lay some distance away, its limbs akimbo, as if he or she had attempted to flee.

Most unsettling of all were the shackles dangling from the room's ceiling, encrusted with blood on the rims.

"Enough," Vadim pleaded, gnashing his teeth. "At long last I remember. She brought me here."

Kreia did not care, or seem to, as she began her tale. _The parable of the Four Hermits is true. Long after their deaths did your former Master lock you in yonder irons. Did she not tell you of these piles of bones? In days far past, four Sith infants were brought to this chamber. Their caretakers were sensitive to the Force and knew how to project it onto walls and other flat surfaces. They wished their charges to be hermits, with no knowledge of the outside world or anything that lay beyond this cave. Thus, they believed, these babes would grow into wise men and women who could *see* nothing but the Force and its various manifestations._

_For twenty years, their plan proceeded and bore fruit. The hermits, now mad, spoke of horrific things. Death. Destruction. Mass murder and genocide. War, always war. Even the gentle currents of the Force served to feed the dark, endless ocean of slaughter to which they were mere tributaries. One day, one of these four could take no more. Was this truly the essence of the galaxy, of life? Was there no more to existence? _

_The lone hermit escaped the cave, blinded by the light of Korriban's sun. Nevertheless, he was liberated from the Force's chains. He saw crude matter, yes, but at least it was tangible, to be sensed and tamed. Life could be more than his masters and the Force had made it to be. He went to bring his friends the news. _

_What happened? What did the other three sages do? Did they believe their fellow seer?_

Vadim gazed down at the fourth skeleton. "No, Master. They cut him down as he tried to run from them."

_Such are the weak. They hate and fear those who understand, as you do, though you lack faith in yourself. Report to the wall and learn your final lesson. Why she had to test you as she did, and why you lived. _

"Kill me," Vadim told X8-Z9. The droid spun around faster and faster, overheating and aiming to explode.

_Report, you fool! Don't be a coward, as you were then. If you must perish, do so as a Sith and not a slave! _

Every bit of strength Vadim had left was exhausted when he told his combat sphere to ignore the order. As the smoking machine cooled down, Vadim went to the wall, raised his arms, and let the shackles chain him. He hung there shirtless, pressing his chest against the cold stone of the cave wall. He knew what lay ahead.

_Recite, _said Kreia. _Explain, if you will. _

"Lashes are administered in sets of four. _Quatrices. _A standard set is four quatrices. Full course, sixteen." _Sixteen times four is sixty-four. Sixty-four stripes on the back, each one calling, "Remember! Remember!" _

_Go on. _

"I remember. My one crime, my transgression, my punishment. I refused to enter Lady Shan's Crucible."

_Why?_

"No mindless drone would I be, not like the others. I would attend Lady Shan at full capability or not at all." Vadim paused. "Two hundred and fifty. Quatrices, that is, not individual blows. Two hundred fifty by four."

_Why are you still alive after one thousand lashes? BEHOLD, apprentice, and know who you are!_

Her eyes, brimming with triumph. Sting after sting of the whip, relentless. A whispered message:

"If you live, you will serve. Shadow Darth Fornax. Find Vesi Svari, and bring her to me alive."

At the time, he'd had no clue who Vesi Svari was or why he was to track her down. Same with Fornax: who in the Force was he? As he relived the terror of his castigation by Lady Shan, stroke by stroke, Vadim saw visions of what had happened to his Sith superior, which made him bite down hard on the armband to keep from damaging his tongue. Before he blacked out, Kreia gave him one last piece of advice:

_You need to find her before THEY do. If Bastila and Fornax capture her, all shall be lost, including us. _


	8. A Few Good Drones

**CHAPTER SEVEN: A FEW GOOD DRONES**

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: I first discovered the idea of "labor missionaries" in Chuck Palahniuk's novel _Survivor.)_

_~ "Ah, but at what point does the power the Force exerts submerge any attempt at choice or free will?" – Kreia/Darth Traya, discussing such a question with Brianna/Handmaiden ~_

**BORDER OF THE UNKNOWN REGIONS – CUPELLA: FORCE CRUCIBLE AND SITH BASE**

Bastila Shan was not yet ready to release her newly-forged apprentice.

He'd survived the Harrowing. So far, that portion of her Crucible experiment had proven a success.

What remained was how she'd shield her other subjects from the mind-destroying power of the Dark Side.

As she gazed at him, then down into the pit she'd named Cupella, she thought: _Perhaps I don't need to._

"Fornax? Bring me the latest refugee prisoners from Nar Shaddaa, whose freighter we've just captured."

He saluted and departed. Among the latest batch of specimens was a certain Duros, Muro Chano, who'd been recently fired by Czerka Corp. Ona Li had not been the only employee who had fallen short as of late. Big predators ate smaller predators, and Ona's boss had become medium-sized prey in the long run. In the long line of Force-shackled saps, only he held his head high, refusing to bow to whatever tortures lay ahead.

Fornax signaled a sentry guarding the queue, who gave Chano a stroke of his baton. He didn't flinch.

"Welcome," announced his future tormentor, gracing the catwalk above the Crucible. "I am Bastila Shan. You may or may not know me as the Dark Lady of the Sith, apprentice and consort to Lord Revan. He has withdrawn himself from the known galaxy, so I govern in his stead." To Bastila, the word wasn't ironic. She had considerable power, but did not rule over anything, even this facility. It belonged to her superior. Until he returned, she was his ambassador. Governing was what she had been tasked to do until she did reign.

Muro Chano didn't understand this nuance. "Ha! That not what Sith do. They rule and ruin galaxy from afar."

Another sharp, slightly profane gesture from Fornax. Another whack on the Duros' back. He hissed in pain.

"As I said," continued Bastila, "I'm waiting for my Lord. He'll set everything right and eliminate all evil."

Silence. Everyone was confused now, including Lady Shan's pupil, but he didn't say a word.

"In the meantime, the galaxy must be prepared for his return. Cleansed. Purified. Made more receptive to his will, and to the Force. That's where you come in. You shall become our first convoy of drones sent abroad as laborers." After allowing time for the new term to sink in, she explained. "I could conscript you into my new army, but I have enough soldiers. I could train you to be sleeper agents, operatives on several Core Worlds, but I have enough spies. You know what I can never have too many of? Slaves. Workers."

"Then why we standing next to big pit?" Chano asked. "Why you not send us to mines already?"

A grin spread across Bastila's face like an oil slick across a pristine lake. "Two problems. First, you talk too much. One more peep from you, and I'll melt you in my Crucible. Secondly, how to make sure you'll obey? As I've seen with a few of my other servants, the baton and the whip are not entirely effective. What is? The Force. It will ensure your minds are fit for servitude, and the only choices you'll make are the right ones. You'll bend your back and your brain to its will. That's what these restraints and the head harness are for."

The Duros didn't quite comprehend, but he was outraged anyway. "Can't do this to us! We're not animals!"

"Congratulations," replied Lady Shan. "You've just volunteered to be my first labor emissary. Fornax?"

The Harrowed Sith, his body encircled by lines of glowing script, seized Muro Chano and strapped him into the device poised across the diameter of the Crucible. Never mind a hazmat suit; Fornax and Bastila would shield the rest of the alien's body with the Force. This was an improvement over Bastila's prior technique; she hadn't known how to protect her student otherwise. Now she knew better. Chano's body would remain unharmed and fit for demanding physical toil. Only his cranium, with brain aching inside, would receive proper treatment for his kind. With mouths agape, the other refugee prisoners watched in stupefied terror.

"You're worse than animals," said Bastila. "You are pieces of _dekk, _stinking garbage from a Huttese moon. That means I may dispose of you as I please. I'll now begin the mental subjugation process. Stand back."

A surge of Force energy, and Chano felt nothing. No pain or fear, not even that of the unknown. His limbs were effectively immobilized, but what was about to occur inside his skull would render this a mercy.

_I am still me, _he thought to himself. _Nothing happening yet. How high am I above the bottom? Must resist. _

"Notice how the Duros doesn't struggle? First come the anesthetization and paralysis of one's gross motor functions. The frame into which he's been secured is immensely delicate, and I don't want it damaged."

_Still nothing happening. How much will it hurt? Regret all I've done in life, and Czerka – uggghhhhh – _

Muro's mind grew still. Whatever he'd begun to recall about his former place of employment, it was now gone. Vanished into the ether, or wherever such fragments of thought went when they were lost. The tubes attached to his headdress filled with attenuated Force energy, controlled by the same dial that had regulated Darth Fornax's dose. His had been much higher, but even a low concentration would wipe one's neurons: memories and insights, theories and concrete plans, and the will to want anything other than to obey.

Bit by bit, Chano's mind was stripped of its extraneous components. Faces and places flashed before him.

_Tamra, wife. Nimo, Anno, sons. Bar on Nar Shaddaa. Desk – whose desk? Boss – whose boss? Home. _

Such was his last independent thought, his yearning for one cramped apartment among hundreds.

Chano closed his eyes, and the stinging in his skull subsided. Lady Shan stepped forward, assessing him.

"How are you feeling?"

Mumbles and groans from the subject, his gray skin more ashen than before. Then: "Tired, but not hurt."

"Good. Who are you?"

The question puzzled him for a long moment. What was his name? He had none. "Waiting for number."

"Excellent. You are NS-0001, my first of a thousand drones from this latest batch of prisoners from Nar Shaddaa. Repeat your designation."

"NS-0001."

Bastila nodded. "You shall be sent to Dantooine as a labor emissary, shoveling manure for farmers there." Squaring her shoulders, Lady Shan turned to Darth Fornax. "Release the drone and secure the next one."

As it turned out, the next one broke out of her fear fugue and hurled herself into the Crucible headfirst.

"Blast it!" roared Bastila. "Subject NS-0002 lost. Apprentice! Guards! Keep them from killing themselves!"

Whacks from the sentries' batons and Fornax's command over simple minds through the Force achieved this aim, at least for the refugees in their immediate vicinity. The ones further back in line, who couldn't even see the pit, had no idea why such punishment was suddenly being rained down upon them.

One by one, sentient souls became drones. Once processed, the two lead Sith separated them into several groups headed for various planets. Most were bound for Core worlds such as Coruscant and Corellia, to work as unpaid drudges and serve as unwitting harbingers for Revan's return. Once their bosses saw how efficient and obedient they were, following every command without question, they'd wonder where these magnificent menials had come from. Others, less fortunate, would be affected by their Force irradiation. Collateral damage was a necessary evil. Once their work was done, it would no longer be necessary.

"I don't understand," Fornax told his Master after the processing ended. "How will Revan end all evil?"

"He'll finish what I've started. He'll awaken the strongest minds in the galaxy to the truth of what I believe, and what must be done to implement it throughout the galaxy. Think of it: no more Jedi. No more Sith. No more Exchange or Hutt crime bosses. No crime, period. Everything and everyone will be washed clean."

"But. . .how? If there are no more Jedi and Sith, then what will we be?"

Lady Shan's slow grin returned. "I knew I was wise to mold you as I did, to let you keep some cognizance whilst still being Harrowed. You ask a pertinent question, but you're not yet ready for the answer."

Fornax grunted. "You didn't answer my first one, either. How will Revan get rid of all the evil in the galaxy?"

A pointed stare from Bastila's apprentice, but underneath it, blankness. He wasn't making the connection.

"Why forge drones?" she asked.

"To work and to obey."

"Yes, but why turn their brains into smooth, infantile oblongs? Not only so they'll serve their function."

"So they'll. . .not think?" Within his own brain, Fornax felt a pulse that made him queasy and uncomfortable.

"Precisely. They'll have no other concerns but those of daily life and their designated occupations. Also?"

"What do you mean?" Bastila's pupil added "Master" after a split second.

She bared her teeth, both in frustration and in admiration of her wisdom. "If you can't think, you can't choose. I don't mean in an ordinary sense, either. Who cares whether you want meat or vegetables for dinner? That sort of choice is the only one our drones are allowed. They can't comprehend beyond such things. In time, we'll extend our reach to senators and government officials, then the Jedi and Sith themselves. They're the ones who make the hard decisions: which worlds get which resources, what to do about insurrections, whether to wage war. They spin the galaxy's wheels and keep them spinning, and their choices are axes."

Fornax scratched his head. He couldn't fathom that last part, but: "So we'll make them drones, too?"

"Yes, which we control through the Force without them even knowing they're being controlled. We'll make life much easier for them, much smoother. When Revan returns, we won't have to do much preparation."

"Preparation for what?"

"The end. The end of all that plagues us, all our suffering. You still don't understand, but you will."

Deep down, in a hidden place within his Harrowed heart, Darth Fornax wasn't sure he wanted to.


	9. A Salvager Repurposed

**CHAPTER EIGHT: A SALVAGER REPURPOSED**

_~ "But it will be her choice, and she will have no regrets." – Kreia/Darth Traya, predicting Mira's life and death through the Force ~_

One of the very first Jedi wrote: "Who can fathom the Force?"

Those who didn't believe in it joked that it worked in inscrutable ways.

It did its work slowly and subtly, etching itself into even the humblest beings.

Even a certain scrounger from Nar Shaddaa. Ona knew she'd come to a planet full of farmers. Imagine her surprise when she found out Dantooine was a planet full of Jedi as well. Administrator Adare told her so.

On the day after she'd first met Vesi, she'd returned to the Khoonda Administrative Building with a special ID card that the "custodian" had given her. When Ona showed it to one of the line-guarding protocol droids, it allowed her to move straight to the front – causing others to grumble. As much as she didn't like this, the Twi'lek was also grateful. She hadn't been looking forward to being on her feet for several hours again.

Terena Adare had glared at Ona, down at the ID, and back up again, not believing what she'd seen.

"Who issued you this card?" Adare had asked, failing to keep a suspicious edge from her voice.

"A j-janitor at one of your other buildings. Her name is Vesi. I helped her out with her work."

The Administrator had blinked. "Come with me." To Ona's horror, she'd led her to the Khoonda Militia Office and Holding Cell Area. Once she'd sealed the door shut behind her, Adare had explained, "The only Vesi I know is Vesi Svari, Grandmaster of the Potentium Jedi. You say she's a janitor? If so, she would not have been able to grant you identification with this sort of clearance. Wait here. I'm going to summon her."

Ona had glanced toward the holding cells, eyes wide with fear. "Please don't put me in one of those."

"A Force cage? We're not barbarians, which we would have been had that mercenary Azkul – Never mind. Berun Modrul, our militia's second-in-command, will watch over you and see to any needs you may have."

The aforesaid Modrul had given Ona a nod of acknowledgment, his gaze stern but not hostile. A good sign?

Adare had left and returned with Vesi Svari, whose face had fallen when she'd seen Ona's predicament.

"I'm so sorry," Vesi had said, dashing to the Twi'lek's chair at an interrogation table. "When I told you my name, I didn't want to intimidate you with my rank and title, or expose the whereabouts of our new Order."

"You know this woman?" asked the Administrator, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yes. Her name is Ona Li, and she's currently my guest at the Jedi Enclave."

Ona had found herself at a total loss, unable to do anything but shake her head. "I've nowhere else to go."

"You claim you aided Grandmaster Svari in her – custodial duties?" Adare was honestly puzzled.

Vesi shrugged and smiled. "We don't have the funds for too many cleaning droids. Besides, it relaxes me."

"You always were one to do as you saw fit, ma'am, no matter what the task – including lying to a group of hostile mercs and leading them into traps." Adare winked at her Jedi ally. "Very well. If Ms. Li is indeed telling the truth, then I release her from custody. However, know that I'll hold you personally responsible for whatever your guest does on Dantooine, whether good or ill. I wish you a good day, Grandmaster Svari."

When she and Ona had departed, Vesi had sighed. "I apologize for such a lukewarm welcome from our dear Administrator. I should have known something like this would happen, but I was careless. Forgive me."

"It was nothing. I'm a refugee, so I'm used to. . ." She trailed off. "Can I still stay with you at the – Enclave?"

"Of course, for as long as you need to in order to get back on solid ground. In fact – " Vesi paused. "May I ask you something?" When Ona nodded, she continued, "How much do you know about the Force?"

"Just what I've heard in rumors, and what I saw from a lone Jedi who came to Nar Shaddaa years ago."

"Oh? What did he do?"

"She. I don't know why she got stuck in the armpit of the galaxy, but she shook things up in our sector. She healed Geriel, a hypochondriac who thought he had the plague. She also carved up the Exchange and Serroco goons who'd been terrorizing us night and day. She brought hope, then disappeared as Jedi do." The characteristic warmth of the holocron in Ona's pocket flared to an uncomfortable temperature. Startled, Ona pulled out the artifact. Just as startled, Vesi Svari gasped. The crystal gave its message in her voice.

"I can't believe it," rasped the Exile. "I thought this must have fallen out of my robes on Nar Shaddaa."

"This is yours?" asked Ona. "You're the one?" She wanted to kneel before Vesi, but her legs stiffened.

The leader of the Potentium Order helped her to regain her balance. "Wait. I'm a Jedi, not a queen. When I said I was a servant of the galaxy, I meant it. The Sith seek to rule and to bend the Force to their will."

"Unbelievable." The young refugee turned to look at Vesi with fresh eyes. "What now, Grandmaster?"

A warm smile. "You don't have to call me that unless I induct you into our Order. With that said…" She gave a walk-with-me gesture, and Ona fell into step beside her. "I asked what you knew about the Force because I sense it in you. Faintly, like a whisper at the edge of hearing. Everyone is touched by it, but not everyone is sensitive enough to it that they can become a Jedi. Would you like to have us – test you, so to speak?"

Had Ona just won the galactic lottery? "Yes!"

When they reached the Enclave, Vesi pulled her comrades aside and told them of her plan. Of the Jedi she had trained, three were for it, one against. Atton, ever the fool once upon a time, was not so foolish now.

"A random refugee from Nar Shaddaa just so happens to show up here, and just so happens to have your holocron? I don't buy it. That's so contrived that the cheesiest holobook writers wouldn't use it as a plotline. Maybe she's a bigger Czerka pawn than we thought, or worse, a spy for the Sith."

Bao-Dur frowned. "I sense no guile in her."

"Come on! She plays dumb but isn't. Who's to say Ona didn't haul that talking crystal here on purpose?"

"She may have," replied Visas Marr, "but the Force has its own purposes. Perhaps it brought her to us."

"So we're supposed to take another little lost Jedi into our fold, regardless of her sketchy circumstances?"

Mical leaned forward, a smirk on his lips. "You're one to talk, Atton Rand, but we'll keep our eye on her."

"You bet your last cred we will." The Security Specialist thumped his fist on the table. "All right, I'm in."

Thus the four came to a consensus which turned out not to be necessary. Ona did bear traces of the Force within her body and aura, as discerned through meditation, but they were slight and static. They wouldn't grow much, not even with Jedi around to teach and train her. Fortunately, Vesi suggested another plan:

"Our Administrator has recently opened a staff position at the larger Khoonda headquarters."

Ona started to laugh, then slapped her hand over her mouth. "Runner? Kaff fetcher? Janitor?"

"Junior liaison." Vesi enjoyed her guest's surprised expression. "Locals and newcomers alike have been complaining about the annoying protocol droids and the endless queue to see The One in Charge. If you take the position, though, you'll do more than rattle off that bit about 'not jostling for position.' You'll help expedite the process by being at the head of a second line, checking passports and asking basic questions that will determine what they need Adare to address. If it's something big, you'll escort them right to her."

"And she'd trust me to do so? That woman scares me."

This time the Jedi guffawed out loud. "Me too. Not as much as she used to, but she's one tough krayt."

"I assume I'll have to interview at her office? I probably won't get the job."

"Perhaps a reference from a certain building custodian could help you out."

Ona crossed her arms over her chest. "No. You've been too nice to me already. I'll pass or fail on my own."

Silence between the two women, and understanding. Vesi saluted, then went to attend to Enclave duties. While Ona was away, Atton once again expressed his reservations about her, saying that even though she couldn't be a Jedi, allowing her to get too close to the Administrator was dangerous. The Exile assured him that she, at Adare's insistence, would hold herself at fault should Atton's suspicions prove to be correct.

"I can't afford to lose yo – er, the Order," stammered Rand. "It's like a shyrack with four broken wings."

"Which are healing. Remember what I taught you back on Nar Shaddaa, after you told me of your past."

"Trust the Force. Especially when what you know doesn't make sense anymore."

A pregnant pause stretched between them. "Ona being here doesn't make sense to you now, but it will."

"You know what else baffles me?" asked Atton, receiving a quizzical look from Vesi. "You. . .Grandmaster."

She pulled him close, pressing her moist lips to his. He leaned into the kiss, embracing her with an intensity that overwhelmed him. How long he'd waited. How long she'd hedged her bets. Now all was set right.

Two hours later, the Twi'lek returned triumphant. "I did it! I'm Adare's junior liaison, at least on a trial basis." Eager to tell the tale, she poured out detail after detail, as giddy as a young girl back on Ryloth. The four Jedi and their mentor praised Ona's poise despite her nervousness, which she still possessed in spades.

After a hearty dinner and more glasses of Virgin Juma to celebrate, the Exile spoke with Ona in private.

"Congratulations on your new employment. Trial period or not, I'm sure you'll impress Terena." She cringed a little at using the Administrator's first name, but shrugged it off. "I'd like to ask you something else, a bit more delicate." Pause. "As well as being her 'JL', I'd like you to be mine as well."

"What do you mean?"

Vesi leaned in. "We must always be vigilant. The Sith are looking to crush us, but they have to find us first. Don't get me wrong – we're not in any immediate danger. However, when you ask people intake questions and verify their passports, I'd like you to inform me if anyone seems suspect, or even a little bit off."

"Off, how? Crazy?"

"In a sense. Through the Force. Here, let me – You can feel it, can't you?" Ona inclined her head. When Vesi touched it, the Twi'lek experienced a vision of the Temple and those in it. Their auras were light, clear, free of the chaotic currents that were preludes to Dark Side corruption. Ona exhaled and opened her eyes.

"All beings have a Force signature, a unique imprint in it, that lasts a lifetime. Some say even after death."

"Is that what I saw? How can I? If I'm strong enough to behold them but not to become a Jedi, what then?"

"Then," Vesi replied, "you're several steps ahead of all the Administrator's other staff, even seniors." Ona smiled. Now came the hard part. "If you reach out with your Force perceptions, which you should do if your gut tells you, and you see something wrong with their aura – conflict, hatred, deception – call for me."

"I will. I promise. I'll do my best for both of you." Ona's proud grin grew sheepish. "Now I need some sleep."

"And I must meditate. See you in the morning." Vesi and her guest-turned-valued-staff-member parted.

The Exile folded herself into a cross-legged position, palms up, but her thoughts would not rest. Swirling, churning energies slithered on the edges of her consciousness, then wormed their way deeper, grasping, feeding. Making her temples throb, her teeth grind, and her spirit groan under the weight of their meaning.

_As hard as I try to keep the Dark Side out, it keeps creeping back in. Why? Good old human nature? _

_I should have been born a Twi'lek. Ona. She's so sweet, and so unused to good fortune that when it finds her, it blindsides her. She can't believe she got the job, because she still doesn't think she's worthy of it. _

_I'm like that. Unworthy, even now. Unprepared for the threat I know is coming._

_How can I help Ona or the others when I can't help myself? Thank the Force that Visas hasn't *seen* me. _

_Maybe she should. _The thought sobered and stunned her. _Or maybe I should debrief Atton…No, not yet. Now's not the time for base lusts and indignities. I have to reset my own scales before I'm unbalanced. _

She hoped for a sudden revelation. None came. She tried to still herself again, but fell into an uneasy slumber.


	10. Driven

**CHAPTER NINE: DRIVEN**

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my first experiment with writing while in a meditative state of consciousness.)

_~ "What is it that drives you?" – Kreia/Darth Traya, to the Jedi Exile, several times ~_

Jedi meditation was supposed to bring peace, Sith meditation the focus of passion.

The Exile experienced neither of these things.

Instead she was plunged into a waking nightmare, beginning with nothing and ending with everything.

_Darkness. I've seen it so many times before, felt it, been engulfed by it, but never been this close to it. I've been transported to the outer regions not only of space, but of time. I can't move. I can barely breathe. _

_What is this?_

Vesi's body went rigid, making a waxen mockery of the lotus she imitated.

_How long until I pass out? I'll try to enter the Jedi breath trance that Kreia taught me. That's it – slowly. Yes. _

Her breath came out between her teeth, passing her tongue but barely touching it. An almost-silent exhale.

_It's like I'm dead and alive at the same time. How can I get out?_

_*Don't try.* _

_Kreia? You. . .? _

_*As always. I want to help you see what lies at your core, not just in your heart. Right now it misleads you.* _

_How? _

_*You're too focused on the world in front of you, when you should turn your eyes to the skies. The void.* _

_I have to keep the Order going. I hate to keep the Order going. I'm being eaten alive from the inside out. _

_*Whose fault is that? Yours? I daresay not. Stop struggling for a moment, and let your spirit shine.* _

The Exile yielded, giving up the fight for more than a split second, ceding control of her most precious gift. Too long had she shouldered the burden of relying on herself alone, on nothing and no one external.

A lotus flower appeared in her mind, its petals blindingly white. Vesi winced, drawing back from its glare.

_*Peel back a petal.* _

She did. A violet one stretched out in its place, more beautiful but less substantial than the first. Instinctively, Vesi knew how to proceed. One by one, with a gentle pull of her consciousness, she plucked the white petals and let them vanish into the claustrophobic darkness. When only the violet remained, she marveled.

_How beautiful! Is that what I'm like on the inside?_

_*Yes, but you're not finished. Examine this flower more closely. What does its color signify?* _

_The mixture of red and blue. _An insight revealed itself to Vesi: _The blending of the Jedi and the Sith. _

_*Of course. What of the substance of the violet lotus?* _

_It looks bony. Skeletal, like it could shatter if someone put too much pressure on it. _

_*You are perceptive indeed. This bloom represents me and the teachings I've imparted to you. Let your feelings surface again.* _

Without thinking, the Exile obeyed, and like a rare crystal, the flower did shatter. Vesi's spirits sank, but not for long. Her sorrow at the lotus' destruction was replaced by searing apprehension at what she saw next: a colony of lights floating in midair, brighter even than the white lotus had been. Bright like artificial suns.

_Why are they – uggh – I can't stand to look at them much longer, and they're clustered in an eerie sphere. _

_*They're your companions, surrounding you like a colony of algae or bacteria. They serve and protect you, but they blind you just the same. Teach, teach, teach. Need, need, need. They've established themselves as Grey Jedi, Potentium Jedi, instead of the Lost Jedi. They'll soon require your guidance no more.* _

_That's a relief. _A pang of guilt. _Oh, Kreia, I can't abandon them now. Not when the True Sith are coming. _

_*Let them be. If they're destined to rise, let them rise. If they're fated to fall, let them fall.* _

_Wait. You tried to destroy the Force because you wanted all of us to have true free will, so why say this?_

_*Shhhh. No more questions, only answers. How to get your symbiotic students to scatter? They're the ones who put such pressure on the violet lotus, the scaffolding of my principles. Yet they hide you inside them.* _

Vesi breathed in and out, as she'd been taught to do many times by both Master Kavar and Darth Traya. The stilling of the mind came with the rhythm of the lungs, but despite her peace, the glaring sphere stayed.

_*Try looking up.* _

More darkness. More void. More suffocation. The Grandmaster reached upward and pulled _it_ down. . .and _it_ sucked them right up. Like a vacuum hose on a cleaning droid, _it_ removed each and every one of them.

Her mind screamed.

_Hold, HOLD. Behold. . ._

And with that, Vesi Svari beheld her core – or at least its outer layer.

_*A mass of churning energy. Astidohydrogen.* _That particular scientific term, the Exile had never heard. _*A rare combination of elements: stability and instability, beauty and ghastliness, order and chaos. 'Tis you. 'Tis impossible for you to walk the path of grey, of trying not to interfere when you see someone suffer, and by the same token, embracing the passions that you have so long denied. Your feelings are so strong that you can't explain them, even to yourself. You lust, but you don't know why. You're driven, but by what?* _

"I don't know," Vesi said and began to sob. "I never have. Why must life be so hard, even with the Force?"

_*Steady yourself. There is something you must do. It's like seeing a physician. Let the seer examine you.* _

_I'm too scared. I'm too proud. What if Visas sees nothing but a killer inside of me, an endless fount of rage?_

_*I asked you how long it would be before she beheld your true nature. Let that time come. Have no fear. The key to resolving every enigma that has ever swarmed around you lies in this simple act. Perform it.* _


	11. Man, Myth, Monster

**CHAPTER TEN: MAN, MYTH, MONSTER**

_~ "Revan was power. Staring into his eyes was like staring into the heart of the Force. Even then, you could see the Jedi he would slay etched on his soul." – Kreia/Darth Traya, describing her greatest pupil ~_

Naught held greater sway over the galaxy than three things: a man, a myth, and a monster.

Darth Revan held the distinction of being all in one.

At the gateway to the Unknown Regions, he'd glimpsed a fourth possibility: _miracle. _

_Those who know of the True Sith, and they are few, assume they're alive and mortal. I know better._

How to defend himself from the invisible? How to fight beings who had risen from the dead?

"_Returned" is a better word. As I returned to annihilate the Jedi, so they've returned to annihilate everything. _

Revan knew there were other ways to achieve this than through the hunger of the fool that Darth Traya had trained. One needed not consume life to end it. Sometimes its negation occurred through transformation. How had the ancient Sith Lords resurrected themselves and prepared once again for battle? How had they spurned the Force's will and made a mockery of it? Life, matter, and flesh were irrelevant to them. Tulak Hord, Ludo Kressh, Ulic Qel-Droma, Marka Ragnos, Naga Sadow, and their ancestors currently had no forms that anyone would recognize. They were not of this plane, but they yearned for revenge upon it.

The Dark Lord sensed this as he skimmed the borders of known space. He sensed it, and he feared it.

_Why would the dead seek vengeance upon the living, if they themselves have conquered the grave?_

Whichever role he personified, Revan knew he'd have to conquer them in order to save the galaxy.

Bastila Shan loved him as a man. From the start, she'd seen past both his Jedi and Sith masks, cementing the latter but keeping the former in mind. She had tried to turn him to the Light, that beacon of selflessness and serenity in which the weak basked. In ego's dissolution came evil's dissolution. So the Jedi promised, as had Bastila. However, he had proven this promise false. What did loving others mean if one had no self that was able to love them? What did serving the galaxy mean if one wasn't allowed to serve individuals? What did the common good mean if no one was common and no one was good? Lies, well-meaning lies. He had stripped Bastila of them, revealing the hidden truth of her power-seeking self to her conscious mind.

As a man, he ached to rejoin her. To live the rest of his days on Korriban, raise a family, and die content.

Living Sith revered him as a myth. They'd heard tales of his might, his brilliance and unparalleled strength of will. His name was spoken with reverence and invoked with awe. They aimed to match him, to one day surpass him. To that end, they spent years channeling the Force and sparring with full-force weapons. Killing each other. The Dark Lords had perished long ago - or so they thought - but Darth Revan still lived. A disadvantage in terms of his godlike status. Still, as earthly disciples followed teachings that he had largely shaped, he took pleasure in vicarious glory. Wittingly or unwittingly, the Sith would remain his champions.

As a myth, he wished to remain concealed. To let himself diminish and his legend wage war for him.

The Jedi Order and the rabble they protected loathed him as a monster. Jedi were not supposed to hate, but ordinary people weren't bound by their Code. They were free to spit and curse with impunity whenever he was mentioned (which they did). They were free to blame his past actions for their current problems (which they did). They were free to use him as a villain in their children's bedtime stories, as a bad example for their youth, and as the epitome of corruption in their adult loved ones (which they did). For them, to recognize him as a man would minimize his atrocities. To view him as a myth would downplay the threat that he and his teachings presented. Only a loathsome form of unspeakable horror would contain him.

The Jedi shared all of these sentiments but distanced themselves from the feelings they inspired. Revan was more than one of their own who had fallen to the Dark Side, even one who had become a Sith Lord. What separated Revan from his ilk was his cancerous mentality, spreading through the minds and hearts of those who followed him. Bastila Shan had contracted it. So had Vesi Svari, now an exile. Other Sith sought to kill the Jedi. Revan sought to convert them. Therein lay the vast and lethal difference. An assassin living by the sword died by it. A Force prophet who was assassinated became a martyr. This the Order wouldn't tolerate. This, they would do everything in their power to avoid – even at the cost of letting him live.

As a monster, Revan threw his head back and laughed. Of course they would. The Jedi were all dead.

In their absence, he had work to do.

He had a galaxy to prepare for the invasion of the True Sith, cloaked by more than stealth fields.

If he were to vanquish them, he'd have to do so in all three of his capacities.


	12. Exalted

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: EXALTED**

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've only just now noticed that I haven't been using my location headings. Still, I think they're self-evident once you start reading each chapter. Unless stated otherwise, all are as before.)

_~ "You thought that the corrupted remnants of the Republic, the machines spawned by technology that Revan led into battle, were the Sith? You are wrong. The Sith is a belief." – Kreia/Darth Traya, to the Jedi Exile after her defeat upon Malachor V ~_

**KORRIBAN – HERMITS' CAVE: MEDITATION CHAMBER**

Korriban was more than a graveyard world, a barren bedchamber for sleeping kings.

It was also a crucible in its own right.

Not all apprentice Sith survived their trials. Not all were meant to.

Vadim hadn't believed he would, but chosen ones defied belief – even in themselves.

_*Awaken.* _

He pried his eyes open, gummy with the aftermath of unconsciousness. How long had he been out?

_*Three days. I have released you from your shackles so that you may rest and prepare.* _

Rest he understood, but prepare for what? He found himself on the floor of the Meditation Chamber in the Hermits' Cave, which he remembered exploring. Someone was missing, though. Where was X8-Z9? Struggling to his feet and scraping his elbows and knees in the process, Vadim stood. If it hadn't been for his infrared vision, he might have tripped over one of the Four Hermits' skeletons or polished quadranium debris and fallen. Scattered all over the immediate vicinity were the remains of his stalwart fighting sphere.

"Fierfek." Vadim scowled. "What happened? Did _you_ destroy him?" Sudden fury surged through him.

_*I did nothing of the sort. When you ordered your machine to exterminate you, its circuits overheated and exploded. You were unaware of this while you relived your thousand lashes.* _

Double fierfek. "What now? Have I proven myself? If not, at least show yourself." He choked. "Master."

_*You have shown skill in hunting and depending on brute strength to stay alive. Now, without the aid of your combat droid, you must face me in battle or die. Such is the way of the Sith, as you know full well.* _

Without conscious thought, the half-blood apprentice drew his new lightsabers to him via the Force, their violet-black blades _snap-hissing_ to life. Vadim assumed a defensive stance, readying himself for anything.

What he hadn't readied himself for was nothing. Nothing except three purple lightsabers hanging in midair.

They charged.

Vadim spun, parrying and deflecting two of them, but the third grazed his shoulder. Gritting his teeth at the wound that had been inflicted and cauterized all at once, he flung himself forward and launched an attack, bludgeoning the apparitions – was that what they were? No, these could and would kill him – with all of his strength. What he lacked in finesse he made up for in ferocity, fueled by a rage he could barely control. He would not let anyone beat him again. No one would stand in the way of his final test, even his tester. Yeesha was dead. So was Murvai. No matter how much he'd cared for his fellow slaves, one a friend, one a rival, they were now gone. They had shown themselves unworthy. He would not, by all the ghosts of Korriban.

Vadim fought like a madman, battering the floating blades as if they were duracrete walls, causing them to fizzle out and join the Hermits' skeletons. Sweat poured down every inch of his body and turned to steam.

A force unlike any other he'd ever felt – even _the _Force – slammed into him and knocked him to the ground.

Cold engulfed him. Colder than the stone beneath his body, than the deepest stream. Colder than space.

_*You cannot slay what you cannot see, and slavery has blinded you. Shall I open your eyes, apprentice?*_

Through a watery haze, Vadim discerned only the ceiling of the Cave above. Above him, not even a shadow.

"Who…are you really?"

Searing agony. His vision, clouded by tears and pressure within his retinas, began to fail. Then, a presence.

_*Darth Traya, once of the mortal Sith, now of the True. I have surpassed life and death as you know them.* _

All Vadim could do, even with the strength of his body and bloodline, was listen to the echo in his mind.

_*I have transformed myself into what they are not, and what the Force is not. Brace yourself and behold.* _

He felt more pressure scraping across the flesh of his arm and sinking in. Dragging itself across his skin. A suppressed memory surfaced of him being assigned to repair the vacuum tubes in one of Lady Shan's utility droids. Vadim had made a mistake and felt the pain of excessive suction, one that turned your muscles to jelly and your skin into a shapeless patch of protoplasm. Such torment nearly made him pass out again.

What made him keep his senses was discovering pure and empty space in the depths of his new scratches.

_*I am antimatter digging into matter. Non-being clawing with vengeance at being. You could say I'm made of the anti-Force, for such a phenomenon does exist. I have given myself the Gift, and have been filled with it. Fear not. I shall heal your wounds as surely as I've inflicted them.* _A pause as she kept her word, sealing his lacerations shut. _*You've withstood every trial I've put to you, Vadim Inikh. You have achieved victory.*_

"Have I?" Vadim sat up, his joints cracking. He felt a thousand years old. "What have I lost in the process?"

_*Your old shell of a self. Vesi Svari, the Jedi Exile, before your former master and her new thrall. It is not for you to receive the Gift, at least not yet, or know its nature. That may come with time. What MUST come is the defeat of my kind. I've become one of them in order to betray them. Darth Revan seeks to do worse.* _

"THE Darth Revan?" As startling as Traya's revelations were, he didn't fully comprehend them. Revan's name, on the other hand, made Vadim give an involuntary salute. He would have knelt, had he the strength.

_*Though he doesn't realize it yet, Lord Revan aims to become one of the True Sith in order to command and conquer them. If he does, even I don't know if he'll make the choice to save the galaxy or destroy it.* _

Vadim swallowed hard. "I don't understand. Why would he do the latter?"

_*For the same reason he could have kept using the Star Forge and his Infinite Fleet. What do Sith want?* _

"Power."

_*Before that. What is the root of our teachings?* _

"Passion."

_*Yes. Passion, strength, power, victory. Underneath all lies the will to survive. The Jedi teach submission and sacrifice. They'll give their lives for those they claim to love, even the tiniest of organisms. Sith seek sovereignty, over their inner world and the outer world. What is the implication of such in terms of myself?* _

"You are sovereign," he said, "even over…the Force." He shuddered. How was this even possible?

_*Through the Gift, my half-blooded apprentice. You are correct in your conclusion. I've beaten the Force, broken away from it entirely – that which I yearned to wipe from the galaxy. As for Lord Revan? He might not only bring it to its knees, but transform it into the substance which fills and forms my anti-form. Think of it! No more life. No more flesh or matter. No more existence on this plane or on any of our planets. Bastila Shan is already partway there, though what she calls the Harrowing is only the first stage of the process.* _

"Lady Shan? What does she have to do with – "

_*Everything. She's going about it the right way but for the wrong reasons, at least in my view. One cannot know good without knowing evil. No matter. This shouldn't concern you for the time being. Locate the Exile.* _Reading her student's battered mind, Traya continued, _*You and she are two sides of a balance. She is an echo, a living wound in the Force. Once I exalt you, you shall be the one to heal her, to complete her._

_*I have given you two blades of astidohydrogen, for they are the only things that can damage us. KNEEL.* _

At once, everything clicked in Vadim's mind. He understood his mission and its purpose. He knelt.

_*You are now Darth Katal, the catalyst who shall ignite the war against the True Sith.* _

As Vadim rose, he no longer felt empty or wounded. Invigorated, he left the Hermits' Cave whole.


	13. Examination

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: If this chapter seems a little rusty compared to the rest, I haven't written in a while – as in anything. A crisis of confidence has overtaken me, so any boost is greatly appreciated by yours truly. By the way, this is the story's pivotal chapter, the official halfway point where it veers into vast AU territory.)

**CHAPTER TWELVE: EXAMINATION**

_~ "YOU are the battleground." – Kreia/Darth Traya, to the Jedi Exile ~_

Even in the furthest reaches of the cosmos, eyes are the windows to the soul.

Those with two eyes gaze into yours and behold your joy, your pain, your struggles and your turmoil.

What does one with no eyes see?

Vesi Svari was terrified to find out.

If she hadn't been a Jedi –the Grandmaster of the Potentium Jedi Order – she wouldn't have agonized. If she'd been like Ona, sensitive to the needs and feelings of others but not sensitive to the Force, she would have breathed much easier on this blistering summer afternoon. As it was, tension made her exhalations shallow. If anyone knew her true self, it would be Visas Marr. Her sister Sentinel would expose her.

_Examine, _she reminded herself. _Think of Visas as a doctor, not an interrogator. She'll help you heal. _

_Is that what she'll do? _A darker part of Vesi's mind spoke up. _Or will she turn her back on you?_

Master Atris had done exactly that. So had Masters Kavar, Vash, Vrook, and Zez Kai-ell. They'd condemned her for her part in the Mandalorian Wars, but beneath that judgment lay a graver rationale for her exile.

_Visas shall see the void at the heart of me, the wound in the Force, and perhaps something worse._

What that something might be she couldn't pinpoint, but she felt its presence. A memory stirred of being a Padawan under Kavar, young and naïve and oh-so-confident. So zealous to serve all the beings and right all the wrongs in the galaxy. So eager to fight the Sith. Kavar had taken her aside and issued a warning:

"Be careful whom you follow, for who knows where they might lead?"

Back then she hadn't worried. She'd trusted her Master with everything, including her life. She'd known that Kavar knew the pleasures and perils of battle. Of the five on the Council, he was the most skilled in combat. As long as she heeded Kavar's wisdom and that of the Code, she'd stay safe. She wouldn't fall. Now?

"Now I'm only half a Jedi," Vesi mumbled _sotto voce_, "and she knows it." The thought sobered her, so much so that she collided with Ona Li leaving for work at the Khoonda Administrative Office. _"Oof! _I'm sorry."

Ona regained her balance and smiled, then tilted her head. "Are you all right, Grandmaster Svari?"

Vesi ignored the prestigious title and shrugged. "Should have watched where I was going. I'm fine."

"My _lekku _tell me otherwise."

Remembering that Twi'lek head-tails discerned body language far more keenly than human senses did, the Grandmaster decided to tell a half-truth. "I have a meditation session with Head Sentinel Visas Marr, and I'm nervous. You know, the whole seeing-through-the-Force thing?" Ona nodded. "What are you up to?"

"Another ship of refugees is coming today, and _I'm _nervous. I've never vetted so many applicants so fast. It's one after the other, _next-next-next. _I keep thinking I'll mess up and make the Administrator angry."

"Everyone makes mistakes. Adare knows that, and she tells me you're doing an exemplary job so far."

"Likewise." Ona grinned. Vesi blushed. "May the Force be with you and Head Sentinel Marr."

The two women saluted each other and left for their separate engagements. The Exile almost stopped and turned around, but decided against it. Kreia had advised her to confront her fears instead of avoiding them.

_And why should you listen to Kreia again?_

Once more, that dark part of her interjected. _That old woman has tormented you for too long. Whether she's dead or alive, it doesn't matter. It SHOULDN'T matter. You're no longer her pupil, and she's long gone. She was Darth Traya of the Sith Triumvirate. If you keep listening to her, you'll fall straight to the Dark Side. _

_I won't, _the light part of her argued. _Besides, my going to see Visas is a sound plan. I have to know if – _

The cool, calming aura emanating from the Miraluka's private quarters halted the Exile in her tracks. Such tranquility in the Force came from someone who was attuned to it in the core of their being. Someone who was devoted to the ideals of selflessness and sacrifice. Someone who would say, "My life for yours."

Visas Marr sat in a balanced lotus position, palms up, her face not a mask but an embodiment of serenity.

"Good day, Grandmaster."

Despite herself, Vesi blinked. "Of course you sensed me coming. I have concerns about our Order that I thought you might be able to address. It's progressing well, especially your students, but I keep wondering how much time we have. Also, countless immigrants are still arriving at Khoonda. The cargo ships aren't letting up. A settlement with so few developed institutions is unsustainable in the long run. It's all Ona and Administrator Adare can do to process their background checks, let alone offer job placements. Too many applicants, not enough openings. That's a problem on every world, but this one in particular. Any ideas?"

"Those aren't the reasons you're here." Visas smiled to herself beneath the veil that covered half her face.

The Exile exhaled with a loud _whoof. _"Am I that obvious? Can you read minds as well as see the Force?"

Visas' secret grin widened. "When you speak in paragraphs, you're hiding something. Sit with me."

As instructed, Vesi took position in the meditation chamber of the former Sith she had helped to redeem.

"Take my hands." Grandmaster Svari obeyed. "Let your body yield like sand and your thoughts still like the Thousand Fountains. Let no shame or fear bind you. Those are dark cocoons, hollow shells that constrict."

At first Vesi begged to differ. Shame and fear were what kept her alive, hypervigilant to the slightest threat. Without those two emotions, compounded by guilt, she'd become apathetic. Apathy was death – no. Yes. Kreia may have been the Lady of Betrayal in disguise, but she'd known more about her disciple's hidden motives than anyone else. If Vesi had embraced her fear of Traya's treachery and turned it into a certainty, warned her companions and spurred them into action, she might have ended the Triumvirate much sooner.

"You're thinking of Kreia," said Visas, her twin even in the similarity of their names. "She haunts you still."

"How do you know?"

"You're trembling like a Padawan who has erred to the point of no return, or so you think. I hear such apprehension in your voice every day, reflected in your Potentium Code. You're trying so hard to balance Light and Darkness that you forget who first inspired you to do so." Visas paused. "Not Kreia. Before her."

A bolt of pain shot through the Grandmaster's skull, making her right temple throb. "Anything else?"

"Her aura swirls like a thick silver mist around you, impenetrable to those who keep themselves blind. Let me dispel that fog. Let me clear away the confusion and doubts that keep you chained to her, even now."

"How?"

"Lean forward." When Vesi did, Visas gently placed a palm over each of her mentor's eyes. "Count to ten." At the end of the sequence, all was stripped away between Master and apprentice, teacher and disciple.

The Exile's jaw fell open in a silent scream.

Gone were the white and violet lotus flowers Kreia had shown her, symbolizing Vesi's outer layer and the influence of Kreia's own teachings. Gone were the brilliant white spheres that symbolized Atton, Bao-Dur, Mical and Visas: her devoted students. Gone was the churning purple-black layer of astidohydrogen: chaos.

Beneath everything lay her core, and her core was a yawning vortex. A void split in half by a blazing barrier. The top half was red, the bottom purple, as in a saberstaff. The vortex she could handle. Its dividing line?

"_No." _Grandmaster Svari dimly realized that she'd curled into a fetal position. "No, no, no."

"You believe you've left him in your past, but he hasn't left you in his. You've forsaken his dark path halfway. In creating and practicing the Code of the Unifying Force, you've left yourself open to him again. Open to the possibilities he showed you before and during the Mandalorian Wars. That's why you're so ashamed, and so afraid." After bringing Vesi to a sitting position once more with infinite tenderness, Visas continued:

"The others don't know you're unconsciously following Revan _and_ Traya, but they don't want to know. They want to believein you and your Order. So do I, even though I realize the underpinnings of your teachings. Leave the other three be. You need their strength and loyalty, not their recriminations for being a false Jedi. As you said, time is running short. Pointing fingers will be useless. We need to prepare, not pontificate."

Vesi nodded and wiped tears away. "So what's our solution? Return to the old Jedi Code?"

"No. We mustn't veer too far toward either extreme. If we do, we'll lose before the fight's even begun. Keep everything as even-handed as you have been, as much as you're able. I'll help you. We all will. Even the ignorance of the others shall be an advantage. What they don't know about you won't be able to deter them from their role in defeating the True Sith. They're coming for us, and they aim to be the sole beings alive."

Did the Exile hear a pause before that last word? "Thank you, Visas, for…seeing me."

"One more thing. In order to be whole again, you must eliminate or reconcile what divides you."

The former premise scared her. The latter? It made Vesi wish she never had a core, an inner self at all.


End file.
